


In the Crosshairs

by Baniac



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2019-08-29 13:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16745002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baniac/pseuds/Baniac
Summary: The League of Shadows has a new leader, but not all members of the League are content with this change. When a new threat against Barsad arises, Bane may have to choose between his fledgling commander and his best friend.





	1. Chapter 1

The six-month-old girl looked up at Bane from where she lay nestled in his massive arms and wriggled in delight when he smiled at her. She smiled back and chortled, revealing two lower incisors, two white squares amidst all that moist pink. Bane chuckled and nuzzled her buttery-soft sternum, causing her to squirm even more, her arms breaking free from the warm towel that he had wrapped her in after her bath. Her tiny hands gently slapped against his head.

“Look at you, my little princess,” Bane crooned. “The world has never seen a more beautiful creature…except perhaps your mother.”

His bare feet fell silently as he moved about the spacious nursery. He loved these rare moments alone with his daughter, when the world about them lay quiet and peaceful. Sometimes they reminded him of the long-ago day in the pit prison when her mother, Talia, had been born, and he had held her for the first time, washed her and swaddled her. Even amidst the horrors of the prison, those moments had indeed given him peace…and lifelong purpose.

Evening sunlight beckoned him to a nearby window, which looked out over the rolling jade hills that surrounded Chateau Blanc. Row upon row of vines stretched beyond the large, manicured gardens, vines which produced some of the finest wine in France. In the distance, the Pyrenees rose, this time of year green and beckoning, except for the higher elevations farther away, their ragged peaks even now capped with snow. He smiled at the memory of Talia skiing those slopes last winter, her identity concealed by her ski goggles, hat, and ski mask. Though Bane did not share her downward thrill, he had watched from a nearby, private chalet, peering through binoculars so he could see her up close.

“Someday I will take you to those mountains, little one,” Bane promised, kissing his daughter’s fleshy cheek. She gurgled, and a bubble formed on her lips, popping when she opened her mouth wider. Bane chuckled.

Then he heard their voices. The boys. Henri, raucous and loud, shouting, “C’mon, James. Hurry!”

Bane sighed and murmured to his daughter, “Here comes the tornado, sweetheart. So much for our quiet time.”

She made a little frown, one light brown eyebrow deviating from its usual straightness.

Soon the door to the suite opened, and Bane’s son—nearly four years old—spilled inward, cheeks flushed, walnut-colored hair damp from a swim in the pool, a towel tied around his neck like a superhero’s cape, fluttering in his wake.

“There you are, Papa Baba!” Henri cried. “I found him, James!”

“Henri!” sixteen-month-old James called from beyond the doorway, the name pronounced in toddler-speak as “’enwe.”

“Did you leave that poor boy in your dust again, my son?” Bane asked in a chiding tone.

“He too slow,” Henri complained before stepping back into the hallway. “C’mon, James.” He waited until the toddler caught up to him, held out a hand, which James took. Then he tugged the tottering boy into the nursery with him.

James Barsad had his father’s thin, bow-shaped lips, high forehead, and light brown complexion and his mother’s chocolate eyes and black hair. He was good-natured like his parents, always with a ready smile and an endearing laugh whereas Henri could be petulant and sulky. The two boys were nearly inseparable ever since James could crawl. Prior to that, the baby had been little more than a curiosity to Henri, who had been greatly disappointed that the boy had not come out of the womb walking and talking so he could have an immediate companion. Henri loved to boss James around, but James took it in stride, happy to wait for one of the adults in their lives to come to his rescue. But Bane had a feeling James would not always be so pliable. His father had the ability to take much from his best friend as well, but Bane always knew John’s tipping point and rarely tried to push him beyond it.

“Papa Baba, we caught a frog by the swimming pool,” Henri announced. “Come and see. We put him in a bucket.”

“I am taking care of your sister right now, Jin,” Bane said, using the shortened version of Henri’s middle name, Temujin, a name that held far more affection for Bane than the name Henri. “You are both dripping still. You know better than to come into the house that way. Your great-grandmother will be upset with you.”

“Come outside,” Henri pleaded. “My big towel’s there, and I’ll show you the frog.”

“Henri!” his mother’s distant voice called from the lower floor of the grand hall. “Where are you? You were not to leave the pool without me.”

“Uh-oh,” Henri said near a whisper, exchanging a look with James.

“You are in the soup now, young man,” Bane rumbled. “You have displeased your mother, and I will not save you.”

“Let’s hide, James,” Henri urged, starting for the closet.

“There is no hiding from your mother,” Bane said, smoothly stepping between his son and the closet.

The baby in his arms began to fuss.

“You are irritating your sister, Jin. Now, go back to your mother while I put Meli to bed. It is time for you and James to clean up for supper.”

Little James was staring up at Melisande. The girl had always held a fascination for him. “Baby,” he said, reaching toward the infant, trying to raise his other hand, but it was still in Henri’s tight grasp.

“We have to hide!” Henri urgently insisted as his mother’s calls came up the stairs ahead of her.

“There will be no hiding. Go back to your mother at once, Jin, before you make her even angrier with you.”

“But—”

“Go.” Bane pointed to the door. “And apologize to your mother and James. He is an unwitting accomplice in your ill-conceived plan.”

“But—”

“Your truant son is in here, my love,” Bane called. His raised voice made Melisande squirm and whimper, so he hastened to soothe her with whispered words and gentle kisses.

“Hide under the bed!” Henri said to James with sudden inspiration, but again his father blocked his path.

“Baby!” James insisted, paying far more attention to Melisande than to where his companion kept dragging him.

Henri tried to elude his father, side-stepping quickly, but he failed. Just then Talia appeared in the doorway, a scowl on her beautiful oval face. Her long hair spilled about her shoulders, its usual dark brown faded slightly by a summer of sun. She wore a white, gauzy cover-up over her sapphire bikini, the same blue as her large eyes, eyes just like her son’s. The curves of her slim body, the lovely roundness of her small breasts distracted Bane long enough for Henri to try to dive under the crib, but James acted like an anchor, still paying attention to Melisande, who began to cry.

“There you are,” Talia said. She stepped quickly into the room and dragged Henri from his crouch. “Look what you’ve done—you’ve upset your sister, just when she’s supposed to be settling down.”

“But, Mama—”

At last James was freed, and he went to stand at Bane’s feet. “Baby crying.”

“I’m so sorry, _habibi_ ,” Talia said to Bane. “I fell asleep on my lounge.”

“No need to apologize, _habibati_. Our obstinate bear cub knows better than to leave the pool without your permission. Don’t you, Jin?”

“Look at all the water you’ve trailed through the house,” Talia scolded. “And dragging poor little James with you.”

“But I want Papa Baba to see our frog.”

“The frog isn’t going anywhere; you could have waited.” She lifted Henri onto her hip. “Now apologize to your father and sister.”

Sulking, Henri kept his eyes down. “I’m sorry.”

Bane turned his daughter away, bouncing her lightly to distract her. “James, go with Talia and Jin.” He returned to the window, his back to the others, again speaking softly to the infant whose cries came with a little less stridency now.

“Come along, James,” Talia said.

“Baby sad.”

“She’ll be fine with her papa. Give me your hand, sweetheart.”

The threesome left the room.

“Hisham,” Talia said to the servant who hurried near to her, no doubt drawn by the commotion. “Henri has made a mess, dripping all the way into the nursery. Could you please see to it?”

“Yes, madam. Right away.”

Talia closed the inner door to the nursery then the door to the suite.

Melisande grew quieter now, her eyelids growing heavy as Bane angled the blinds to dim the light. He kissed away the teardrops clinging to her petal-soft lashes.

“There now, little one. Those noisy boys are gone, and it is time for you to sleep. I will read you a story.”

Bane settled into a rocking chair in one corner of the room, the furniture groaning under his heavy weight, and took a storybook from an adjacent table. As he quietly read to his daughter, her loving eyes—brown, like her grandmother’s—studied him as she sucked on her fingers and made soft sounds of contentment. Within minutes the light began to dim in those eyes as sleep slipped closer. Just as Bane finished the story, Melisande drifted off, her glistening fingers sliding away from her open mouth, her tiny lips pink and perfectly shaped like her mother’s.

He remained in the chair several minutes longer, simply enjoying the sight of his daughter. Often, he thought of her grandmother, after whom she was named. Melisande had endured five years in the pit prison with Bane, both helping each other in very different ways to survive and to ensure Talia survived. Bane had loved her deeply, though he had never told her as much, for she was a married woman who dreamed of being reunited with her husband. Now all he had left of their time together was an old blanket, its once-vibrant earthen colors faded with years. He and Talia kept it carefully preserved. They had last used it when their daughter was born, wrapping her in it as Talia had been swaddled in it as an infant in the pit.

Bane frequently told his daughter stories about Talia’s mother, and the child seemed to enjoy them, always attentive and never crying as he spoke of her grandmother. Talia would sometimes sit and listen, too, her eyes misting over.

As he rocked in the chair longer, he heard Talia and the boys return from the swimming pool. Somehow Talia kept the two from speaking too loudly as they crept past the nursery on their way to shower and don fresh clothes for dinner. He did, however, hear James ask for his mother and father. Talia reminded him that his parents would return in time for supper, no doubt refreshed from their day together away from Chateau Blanc, a little escape from parenting responsibilities.

At last Bane reluctantly put his child into her crib, swaddled and in deep sleep, never disturbed by his movement. He stood longer, watching over her. The warmth of pure love flowed through him. In this moment he fully understood what people meant when they said something “melted” their hearts. Looking at Melisande, he felt pliable and soft inside, a sensation very foreign to someone who could kill another man with a mere squeeze of his massive fist.

It was sensations like these that made him as unsettled as he was happy, for they caused him to question many things, including his very way of life as second-in-command of the League of Shadows. His duties often took him away from his family, into dangerous situations, and because of the League’s international operations he was one of world’s most wanted men. He had always been a man of incredible, singular focus, but since the birth of Henri, he had noticed how thoughts of his son broke through his usual wall of purpose when he was in the field or when he traveled to the League’s secret headquarters in Saudi Arabia’s An Nafud desert. And since Melisande’s birth, those mental intrusions had doubled.

He loved his son more than life, and he had thought he would feel the same about his daughter but, looking at her now, he knew his emotions were even more tied up in Melisande. The reason was obvious to him—she was an infant and a girl. Though he knew it was not necessarily true that females were the “weaker” sex—Talia was proof of that—he still felt an overwhelming belief that his daughter required more protection than his son. Perhaps that was because Henri was such a fearless child, and Melisande was small and completely dependent. Or perhaps it simply had to do with her name and his everlasting guilt over the fact that in prison he had been unable to save Talia’s mother from a horrible death at the hands of dozens of prisoners. Whatever it was, he sometimes found excuses to remain at Chateau Blanc instead of flying to various theaters of operations for the League. He had a feeling that the League’s new commander realized this as well and failed to appreciate his devotion to his children.

“Sir,” a soft but deep male voice called to him from the doorway of the nursery, startling him.

Bane cursed himself for being so engulfed in thought that he had not detected Yemi’s approach. You are slipping, he told himself ruefully.

Holding up a finger for patience, he approached the big Nigerian, a man who had been in prison with Bane and who had been Talia’s personal bodyguard when she had been head of the League. The two left the nursery, Bane closing the door behind him.

“What is it, Yemi?”

“Nyssa called. She said you weren’t answering your cell, so she called me. She wants you to call her back.”

“Very well. Thank you, Yemi.”

A small smile crept over the African. “I didn’t tell her you were reading to the little princess.”

“And I thank you for that.”

Once they stepped outside of the suite, Yemi left him. Before heading to his office, Bane paused for a moment near the low granite railing before him. He stood between two granite pillars, gazing across the grand hall. The ceiling rose above, dominated in the center by an imposing, square skylight which flooded sunlight into the grand hall and its dual, red-carpeted staircase which descended from Bane’s floor. The rococo balustrade shimmered golden, topped by highly polished walnut railings. The stairs led to a reception area inside the front portico where antique golden chairs with red cushions that matched the staircase carpet waited for visitors who never came to the secluded chateau.

Bane gave a slight snort of derision at the opulence of this palatial, mid-18th century manor. Though he appreciated the craftsmanship of the architecture and interior design, he could never feel comfortable living amidst such extravagance, having come from a background of utter poverty and believing in the League’s ideals of simplicity and social equality. But here he stood, staring at the scagliola on the walls, which matched the pillars, because Talia insisted on comfort and beauty for her children and her grandmother, Maysam. For their sake alone did he remain here. Aside from his scorn for luxury, he felt this location in France lacked the security provided by a more remote location like they had enjoyed in Rajasthan, India, for several years before his daughter’s birth.

He could hear the inviting sound of Talia’s French-accented voice from behind the suite door. Bane smiled. His son was arguing against the need to take a shower after swimming. How Henri enjoyed sparring with his mother. Too much sometimes. That is when Bane would step in, then the boy would always behave, for he idolized his father and aspired to be just like him.

Remembering his obligation, Bane headed to his office downstairs where he had left his cellphone.

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned right, passed through a small anteroom and entered what was known as the music room. Highly polished oak floors gleamed from light pouring in floor-to-ceiling windows on the outer wall, their heavy, red velvet draperies tied back. A massive Persian rug covered most of the flooring, sharing the same red as the central staircase carpet, with an interlocking golden design, bordered by gold leafing. On the interior wall, facing two matching chandeliers, fireplaces flanked the French doors through which Bane walked. This cavernous room stretched the whole length of the manor, some one hundred, twenty-five feet. At the far end sat a beautiful grand piano, one Talia sometimes played while he hunched over his desk in the recessed area at the opposite end of the room, working.

His bare feet made no sound as he lumbered toward the imposing mahogany desk in the shadows of the recess. Four Corinthian columns rose to the ceiling, two on either side of the desk. This piece of furniture always reminded him of the desk Talia’s father had in his quarters at the League’s old headquarters in Bhutan. On that desk had been a comely photo of Talia’s mother. As a young initiate, Bane had gone into those quarters to view the picture whenever Rā’s al Ghūl was away on business. Normally such a place had been off limits to anyone but the League’s commander and his daughter, yet Talia was more than happy to take Bane there and see the picture herself.

Settling into the accommodating desk chair which spoke the soft language of high-quality leather beneath his weight, Bane retrieved his cellphone from a top drawer. He hesitated, staring hard at the device. He did not look forward to this conversation, whatever it was, for he was still a bit unsettled by the ascendance of Talia’s older sister, Nyssa, to the Demon’s Head three months ago.

The phone rang several times on the other end before Nyssa picked up. Bane wondered if she purposefully allowed it to do so to show her displeasure at him not being immediately available earlier.

“Hello, Haris,” she said, using the name Maysam called him; too risky to use the notorious name Bane, no matter how secure their communication channels. “I take it Yemi told you of my call.” Slight irritation in that voice, so similar sometimes to her sister’s voice.

“I was indisposed.” Bane felt no obligation to go into detail. Even with his commander, he refused to say anything that sounded like an apology, for he was not sorry for attending to his daughter.

Nyssa paused before continuing. “There is an important matter I need to discuss with you, and I prefer to do so in person.”

“Where shall we meet?”

“I will come to you. It’ll give me a chance to visit my mother.”

“Very well. When should we expect you?”

“In four days. I have matters in Ukraine to attend to first.”

She could have simply relayed this brief information to him through Yemi, but Bane knew she had a purpose behind forcing him to return her call after being unavailable. He saw through her efforts at authority. Though she did not quite fear him, he knew she was still intimidated by him and his legacy with the brethren of the League whom he had once commanded after Talia’s abdication. Nyssa had worked hard to reach her lofty pinnacle; she would not want to lose all that she had gained.

“We shall look forward to your visit,” Bane said.


	2. Chapter 2

            From where he sat in the back seat of the SUV with Sanjana, Barsad watched the verdant French countryside whip past the darkened window. The tortuous mountain roads lay behind them now, giving way to a gently rolling roadway with few vehicles. More and more vineyards filled the landscape, neat rows of vines stretching away over the low hills, surrounding chateaux both aged and sparkling new. It wouldn’t be long now before they reached Chateau Blanc.

            They had been traveling in silence for the past few miles, their two bodyguards in the front seats also quiet, impassive behind dark sunglasses.

            Sanjana squeezed Barsad’s hand and exchanged a smile, her eyelids still heavy from taking a nap. The fresh mountain air—as well as their love-making—had tired her out. She leaned over and kissed his stubbled cheek.

            “It was a perfect day,” she murmured. “Thank you, bunny.”

            Barsad felt his cheeks warm in embarrassment with Sanjana’s use of his pet name in front of his men. But he didn’t scold her, afraid he’d taint her contented mood. Instead he simply drank in the sight of her flawless cocoa skin, her bottomless coffee-colored eyes, and her long raven hair before he kissed her full lips, lingered, felt a stirring in his loins. Their faces still close, he grinned, remembering how they had made love in the lush meadow where they had had their picnic earlier today. Sanjana blushed, and he knew she was thinking of the same.

            “Do you think James behaved for Talia and Bane today?” she asked, as if to distract herself from her desires. Though her English was near perfect these days, the hint of her native Hindi accent still flavored her words.

            “That depends how much Henri tempted him to misbehave.” Barsad chuckled. “That boy is a bad influence, just like Bane’s a bad influence on me.”

            “I missed him today, though, didn’t you?”

            “Of course I did.”

            “He would have had so much fun exploring. Such a beautiful place. We should take him with us next time.”

            “Mmm, maybe.” His grin turned sly, and he kissed her again before leaning back, freeing her hand. “But I enjoyed having you to myself, darlin’. It doesn’t happen enough, you know.”

            “I know. I’ll treasure today.”

            “Me, too.”

            He sighed, his head lolling against the headrest as he continued to gaze at her, remembering the silken strands of her hair gliding between his fingers when they had lain together. Sanjana sighed and closed her eyes again, and he returned his attention to the window. His reflection looked back at him, Sanjana an ethereal shape in the background. How had he ever deserved this gorgeous woman, so much younger than he? While she never seemed to age, he easily saw the lines multiply on his broad forehead and around his heavy-lidded eyes as each year passed by. Would she still want him in a few more years?

            He reflected on how different she was now from when they had first met, when she had been a mere servant for Maysam, a product of the Jaipur slums and a disastrous betrothal. Because she had been a victim of sexual assault twice, it had taken Barsad a long time to win her trust, but he had thoroughly enjoyed the challenge. And once he convinced her of the genuineness of his love, she had allowed herself to love him in return. James had come along more than two years later. His son’s birth had been worth the wait as well.

            Sanjana had fallen into the role of mother with amazing ease. After James’s birth, she never returned to servitude, and she grew more comfortable as an equal to Talia and Maysam, thanks to their shared experiences of motherhood. The transition had eased the anxiety Barsad had felt over Sanjana’s previous feelings of inadequacy when around the two formidable women. True, Sanjana did not have a close relationship with Maysam—more so with Talia—but Barsad hoped that eventually the lingering employer/servant dynamic would fade away.

            At last the driver made the familiar turn onto the narrow, half-mile lane that led to Chateau Blanc. Sanjana sat up straighter in her seat, and she craned her neck as if looking for her son behind every tree or amidst every row of vines they passed.

            Barsad glanced at his tactical wristwatch. “Just in time to have a minute to clean up before supper.”

            “Good thing,” Sanjana said with a teasing smile. “You know how Bane demands punctuality. If we had been late returning, you would never have heard the end of it.”

            “You, on the other hand, my love, would’ve been spared, like we’d arrived at two separate times. He spoils you. So unfair.” Barsad shook his head in mock sadness.

            Sanjana giggled.

            She had not always been so pleased by Bane’s attention. She, like anyone when they first met Bane, had been intimidated by his size, charisma, and mythical persona, and fearful of his lethalness. But Bane had eventually won her over with his kindness and gentlemanly ways of speaking to her. When he had first met the young woman, Bane had worn a tarantula-like mask that delivered a vapor of drugs to kill the constant pain from age-old facial damage suffered in prison. But once Talia had discovered that she was pregnant, Bane had undergone numerous surgeries to repair his face so his son wouldn’t have to grow up looking at that ominous dark mask every day. Bane’s physical transformation had eased Sanjana’s nervousness around him.

            The chateau’s two-story portico loomed in front of them, its stately columns glistening pale in the sunlight. Then shadow darkened the SUV as it pulled beneath the portico’s second-story and halted in front of the main doors. One of his men deftly left the vehicle to open Sanjana’s door. Barsad rounded the SUV to accompany her inside. A young servant boy appeared from the manor to retrieve their picnic basket and other items taken for the day trip.

            They had just entered the chateau and reached the bottom of the main staircase when their son’s high-pitched voice echoed from above.

            “Daddy! Mommy!”

            Barsad looked up to where Maysam stood near the top of the stairs, James in her arms, the boy reaching toward them with wriggling fingers.

            Sanjana made a small sound of excitement and rushed upward, calling to their son, her yellow crepe caftan billowing in her wake. Barsad chuckled and followed at a more reserved pace.

            James squealed with delight as Maysam surrendered him to his mother, the two women laughing at the boy, all talking at once.

            Maysam’s gaze reached past Sanjana as Barsad drew near, and they exchanged smiles, an age-old privacy reflected in their eyes. Even in her seventies, Maysam was a striking woman. She had never colored her black hair, which was now threaded with streaks of silver, a hue that lent an air of wisdom, not decay. Her dark eyes were as sharp and alive as they had been when Barsad met her more than twenty years ago, her lips still full and alluring with her broad smile. Like Talia, she kept her body in shape, watching what she ate and exercising regularly, including daily swims in the pool.

            “Daddy!” James reached over Sanjana’s shoulder, and Barsad grasped the boy’s hand and kissed it.

            “Looks like someone’s been swimming,” Barsad said as he tousled his son’s damp hair.

            “We got frog!”

            “A frog? Where is he?”

            James pointed vaguely.

            “The frog is where he should be,” Maysam said. “Outside. You and Henri may try to catch him again on another day.”

            “Thank you for helping Talia watch James today,” Sanjana said.

            “You know it was my pleasure,” Maysam smiled. “And you have just enough time to freshen up for supper. I am assuming you are all eating with the rest of us, yes?”

            Twenty minutes later Barsad was carrying James on his shoulders into the dining room. Like in the music room, the walls here were an ivory color with gold trim, the same golden color as the richly coffered ceiling. Over each of the two interior-wall fireplaces hung enormous mirrors with a third mounted between them. Opposite, three ceiling-to-floor windows provided a view across the front courtyard and rows of snarled vines. Coral-colored drapes were tied back to allow in the day’s failing sunlight. Large candelabra supported by sculpted cherubs placed at precise intervals along the walls provided more illumination. The carpet’s color matched the drapes, with beige and brown designs. Barsad had always felt a bit odd having meals here, for the room could easily accommodate forty people for dinner, but instead the staff had only eight people to serve.

            Barsad and his family were the last to arrive, for James—energized by his parents’ return—had scampered around their suite, squealing with happiness as his father chased him down to change his malodorous diaper.

            Bane, Talia, Henri, Maysam, and Aaron Abrams sat clustered on one side of the long mahogany table, occupied by casual conversation, something centered around Henri, as was often the case. No one sat at the head of the table; that was reserved for the League’s commander when she came to Chateau Blanc on business or to visit her mother. Only on those occasions did Nyssa’s mother join them for meals, coming from the cottage where she lived behind the chateau. Even after more than a year of coexisting, Diya Panjabi was afraid of Bane and even Barsad to a certain degree. The Indian woman still found it difficult to accept her daughter’s association with the League of Shadows. She would have preferred to be back in her village in Rajasthan, but Nyssa insisted that she was safest here.

            “Jiddah!” James cried to Maysam.

            “Our little prince has arrived upon his steed,” Maysam said with a warm smile.

            “You are late,” little Henri chastised them from his highchair, crossing his arms with such a sincere air that everyone nearly laughed. But all knew what Henri really was averse to was Maysam paying attention to James instead of him. He often scolded James for referring to Maysam as grandmother; he felt only he and his mother should be allowed to use such a word.

            “We’re late,” Barsad said, “because a certain somebody,” he reached to tickle his son’s belly, drawing giggles, “was playing the hare and the tortoise with his parents with a full diaper.”

            He put James in a highchair across from Henri, then held Sanjana’s chair for her to sit on their son’s left before he took his own seat to James’s right.

            “I still can’t picture you changing diapers, Barsad,” Aaron Abrams chuckled from where he and Maysam sat to the right of Bane’s family.

            Abrams was a gruff, older man, Maysam’s bodyguard and lover, and once a fellow inmate of Bane’s in prison. The most distinctive feature on his stocky, square body was his cleft upper lip, giving him a slight speech impediment, barely noticed now by those at table after all this time together. It was easy to see past Abrams’s salt and pepper hair—more salt than pepper nowadays—and the careworn lines on his face to see that, regardless of the cleft lip, he had been quite a handsome man in his younger days, and still was, Maysam insisted.

            “I leave the diaper changing to Sanjana as much as she’ll let me,” Barsad said with a grin as two servants brought in the first course.

            Once served, those at table leisurely consumed the basil salmon terrine, garnished with sliced cucumbers and grapes, as Barsad and Sanjana described their picnic. The children often interrupted, wanting to share the story of their frog capture. Barsad continued speaking even as he had to pick up some of the chopped strawberries his son tossed from the highchair tray. When Henri thought it fun to do the same with his food, Bane growled a brief warning.

            Barsad had noted Bane’s mood right away when he had entered the dining room; his expression was closed, gaze distracted, and he said little. Something while he and Sanjana were away had irritated the big man. Bane’s moodiness was not unfamiliar to Barsad, but here at Chateau Blanc where he could enjoy his family, Bane was more often contented, if not downright happy, a transformation Barsad always welcomed. Anything that disturbed that utopia concerned Barsad, so, after he and Sanjana had related their day’s activities, he decided to probe for what had disturbed his commander.

            “What did we miss while we were away?” he asked, looking at Bane. “Besides the boys’ frog, that is.”

            Bane would know that he had noticed his disposition; sometimes Bane appreciated Barsad’s intuition, other times he grumbled about his lieutenant’s “nosiness” when it came to his emotions. Talia’s glance at Bane told Barsad that she already knew what was troubling her lover. But before Bane could answer, Maysam began to tell them about a shopping trip to Paris that she was planning. The quiet sigh from Abrams made it clear that he was not particularly fond of the idea, but, of course, he would acquiesce to Maysam; the man loved her deeply, something Barsad could completely understand, having had an affair with her many years ago when he had worked for her husband.

            Once Maysam fell silent, Barsad looked again to Bane, one eyebrow raised leadingly. “We’ve been left to our own devices here for a while now; seems like we should be ordered into the field any time, though I have to say I’d rather take my son fishing.”

            Henri and James both gasped with excitement, turning their attention from the servants serving the main course— _pot au feu_.

            “Fishing, Uncle John?” Henri cried. “Can I go, too?”

            “ _May_ I go.” Talia corrected his English with a smile.

            The boy frowned in annoyance. “May I?”

            Barsad wagged a finger at him. “Only if you promise not to catch all the fish.”

            Henri laughed and, licking his lips, watched the servant place cooked carrots and turnips on his plate.

            “You must enjoy your leisure time as much as possible,” Bane said to Barsad. “Nyssa will be paying us a visit in the next few days, so I would imagine we will receive an assignment at that time.”

            “Maybe,” Maysam said, “she’s just coming to visit her mother.” Worry wrinkled her brow, for she hated whenever they had to leave Chateau Blanc, fearing for their safety not only because she loved them but because she dreaded the children losing their fathers to a foe’s bullet.

            “To be honest,” Bane said, “I’m not certain what her purpose is precisely; she was vague on that, only saying there was a matter she wanted to discuss in person with me.”

            Talia’s expression grew grave and a bit suspicious. She and her sister were not close, though neither were they adversarial as they had been when Nyssa had first appeared unexpectedly in their lives to claim the Demon’s Head as the elder heir to Rā’s al Ghūl. Barsad had half-expected the two to eventually form some sort of bond. After all, it wasn’t as if Talia particularly coveted the position any longer; her focus was on her children. Yet the two women remained cool toward one another whenever Nyssa came to Chateau Blanc. Barsad thought their aloofness a bit foolish, for he had loved his only sibling—James was named after him—and would have enjoyed nothing better than to have him here today. He reminded himself, however, that Talia had always been a unique woman, standoffish to other women except for her grandmother. No doubt that came from her early years of life when she was exposed only to men until, as a teenager, she had been sent to the prestigious Le Rosey in Switzerland.

            “I wish Nyssa wouldn’t come,” Maysam muttered as she cut into the tender beef on her plate. “Nothing good ever results from her visits.” Her dark gaze flicked between the two children. “These boys need their fathers here.”

            Barsad chuckled. “We’re still soldiers, Maysam. And we follow orders.”

            “Maybe it is time you didn’t,” she said with a defiant lift of her chin.

            “Oh, boy,” Abrams murmured with dread, suddenly finding his food the most interesting thing in the room. He had witnessed this battle before and was wise enough to stand clear.

            Sanjana looked up hopefully from her meal. On occasion, she would broach this same subject with Barsad, but she preferred Maysam argue the point, especially because the older woman had the authority to address both Bane and Barsad. Talia, however, merely glanced at her grandmother with little reaction. She wasn’t indifferent, Barsad knew; it was just that she knew Bane’s mind better than anyone, and Bane would do only what Bane desired when it came to this topic. She alone had the power to cause Bane to forsake the League, but she would never ask him to do such a thing; it had to be his decision alone. Like Sanjana, however, Talia would certainly welcome having the father of her children safe from the dangers of field work.

            When neither Bane nor Barsad immediately addressed Maysam’s statement, the older woman prodded, “Don’t you wish to see your children grow up? You have both missed valuable moments in their lives, things you cannot retrieve.”

            “It is not that simple,” Bane said with a gentleness he showed few others. “We can’t expect the League to support us and our families if we offer nothing in return.”

            “You have already given them everything,” Maysam said. “As I see it, the League owes you a lifetime of gratitude. And, besides, if money is an issue, you know I have the means to support all of us.”

            “That is not what we would want,” Bane said.

            “Hell, no,” Barsad added.

            “It is what I want,” Maysam continued, “if that’s what it takes to preserve your lives for all our sakes.”

            Hisham slipped inside the dining room doors, carrying a cellphone. Barsad almost didn’t notice him, so consumed by the conversation. But soon the servant was at Maysam’s side, murmuring into her ear and offering the phone.

            “If you will all excuse me,” Maysam said with a hint of annoyance, “my brother is on the phone, and he says it is urgent.” She pushed her chair away from the table and stood, taking the phone from Hisham. “Please continue your meal. I won’t be long.” She left the room, her caftan swirling about her, Hisham in her wake.

            “I hope it’s not bad news,” Talia said, glancing between the door and her son’s beef as she sliced it for him. “Ayman doesn’t call very often.”

            “It’s probably nothing to worry about, habibati,” said Bane, though his gaze also darted once to the closed door.

            “Maybe I should go see,” Abrams said, setting down his utensils.

            “Give her a moment,” Talia cautioned.

            James banged his spoon against his tray. “Jiddah!”

            Sanjana used her index finger to wipe away some stray food from her son’s cheek. “Jiddah will be right back, sweetie. Eat your peas now. Here, open wide.”

            As promised, Maysam returned shortly. Barsad did not like how the color had faded from her cheeks or the way her gaze reached for his before touching briefly on Sanjana, who continued to be busy with James. When she halted behind her chair, no longer holding the phone, all eyes went to her.

            “What did Ayman want, Jiddah?” Talia asked.

            Maysam hesitated. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

            Barsad’s first thought was that Maysam’s brother-in-law, Nashir, head of the El Fadil family, had been killed. He was a warlord of sorts back in Rajasthan, with several sources of income from both legitimate business ventures as well as many more in the shadows, and thus had numerous enemies. It was why Maysam had bodyguards, even this far from her in-laws.

            “News from Jaipur reached the palace today,” Maysam said, the mention of Sanjana’s hometown raising the young woman’s head. Maysam frowned, her fingers kneading the back of her chair. “It was a message for Sanjana from her family.”

            “My family?” Sanjana echoed in surprise, the color draining from her face.

            Barsad reached for her shoulder. She grasped his hand.

            Rarely did she hear from her relatives since the day she had gone to work at the palace; her father had disowned her after her betrothal had fallen apart, and her mother could neither read nor write, even if Sanjana’s father had allowed her to communicate with their daughter. About once a year, though, a brief, poorly-written letter would reach Sanjana, dictated by her mother to one of Sanjana’s uncles and secreted to the palace. Sanjana’s family had no idea that she had moved to France, nor would they ever be told.

            “I’m terribly sorry, Sanjana,” Maysam said, her words heavy with emotion. “The letter said your father passed away two days ago.”

            Sanjana gasped, her fingernails digging into Barsad’s hand. James looked up at her with concern.

            “Mama?”

            “How…how?” Sanjana choked out.

            “He was struck by a car. I’m so sorry, Sanjana.”

            Sanjana said nothing else, staring blankly at her plate.

            “Mama,” James said, banging his spoon again.

            Talia and Bane both offered heartfelt condolences.

            “My poor mother,” Sanjana murmured as if hearing nothing that was said to her. Suddenly she looked at Barsad, tears filling her eyes. “I have to go to my mother. She needs me.”

            Bane cleared his throat, and Barsad saw the caution in his commander’s eyes.

            “Darlin’,” Barsad said, “I don’t think—”

            “I have to,” Sanjana interrupted with new force, turning to him. “She wants me there; otherwise, why would she have sent word to the palace?”

            James banged his spoon even harder. “Mama!”

            “Be quiet, James,” Henri scolded, then leaned toward his mother and loudly whispered, “Mama, why is Sanjana crying?”

            “Hush, sweetheart,” Talia said, then murmured into his ear. Henri frowned with the confusion of one too young to understand the gravity of the situation.

            “I don’t want you traveling alone,” Barsad said to Sanjana.

            “Then come with me, John. Please. I want to see my mother. It’s been so many years. She needs me.”

            “I’d need to ask for a leave of absence, and, knowing Nyssa, there’s slim chance of getting that,” Barsad said with complaint in his tone; he had never been a supporter of the League’s new commander.

            “But you could ask?” Sanjana pleaded.

            Barsad looked across the table at Bane and Talia, surprised neither of them was offering an opinion on his dilemma. In Talia’s gaze, he saw a hint of encouragement for him to defy her half-sister. He turned back to Sanjana, who was chewing her lower lip.

            Maysam came around the table toward them, said, “Here, Sanjana. Let me help James with his supper while you and John take some private time to discuss what should be done.”

            “Thank you, Maysam.” Sanjana stood, still holding onto Barsad’s hand, wiping away her tears with her linen napkin.

            “Sanjana,” Talia said. “We will be happy to watch James for you, of course. Do what you must do. We all know how much you’ve missed your family over the years.”

            “Thank you, Talia.” Sanjana’s lips trembled. She bent to absently kiss her son’s cheek.

            Barsad put his arm around her.

            “Where Daddy go?” James asked.

            “Mommy and I will be back in a little bit, son. Be good for Jiddah.”

            “Come too,” the boy requested.

            “Don’t you want to stay with me?” Maysam said, feigning hurt feelings, tilting her head.

            James squirmed as if ashamed. “Okay, Jiddah.”

            Maysam smiled and brushed her fingers along his temple, making the child squirm even more and laugh.

            “Tickles!”

            “Here, take a spoonful of these peas, my love.”

            Barsad nodded his thanks to Maysam then escorted Sanjana from the room.


	3. Chapter 3

 

            Bane knocked quietly on the door to Barsad’s suite and waited. The meal he had ingested sat in his stomach like a wadded up wet rag. It was not that the food had been of poor quality but rather that his appetite for sustenance of any kind had been weak because of Nyssa’s ambiguous phone call and the news about Sanjana’s father.

            Bane thought of Talia, whom he had left settling into her favorite chair on their balcony with a book, enjoying a moment of peace now that their children were in bed. The death of Sanjana’s father had disturbed her, as it had Bane. Sanjana was dear to both of them, not simply because of her sweet disposition but because she made Barsad so happy. Bane had asked Talia if she wished to accompany him to talk to Barsad, but she said it would be best if Bane spoke to him brother to brother.

            The door opened, and Barsad stood before him, barefoot and wearing a white t-shirt and gray cotton drawstring pants. His hooded eyes looked even sleepier than usual.

            “How is Sanjana, brother?”

            Barsad frowned and glanced over his shoulder as if to ensure Sanjana was not there. “She’s packing. She’s determined to go home.”

            “I came to discuss that with you. Perhaps it would be best if we went to my office or to the patio.”

            Barsad gave a curt nod. “Let me tell her where I’m going. I’ll meet you on the patio in a couple of minutes.”

            “Very well. I will have Hisham bring us some iced tea.”

            Barsad smiled, wan and weary. “I could go for something stronger.”

            “Wine, then.”

            “Something _stronger_.”

            “You know we keep no spirits stronger than our vintages, brother.”

            “I bet Hisham has something stashed away.”

            Bane saw through Barsad’s hopeful game and offered a tiny smile. “Perhaps he does, but I doubt it is for his own consumption.”

            Barsad shrugged coyly. “Who’s to say? He may have picked up something for a friend.”

            Bane scoffed. “You are as incorrigible as my son. One could wonder at the true identity of his father some days.”

            “You know I’d never dare tread those waters.”

            “I will see you on the patio.”

            The expansive concrete patio had a small fountain at one end with large urns on either side, filled with thriving scarlet geraniums, carefully nurtured by the gardener, a Frenchman seemingly as old as the chateau. From his cushioned chair Bane could see the stooped fellow moving amidst the rose bushes that grew along the front edge of the patio. Regardless of years, the gardener showed little infirmity, either mentally or physically, and he prided himself on his pink roses. Francois always made sure to fill at least one vase in Melisande’s nursery every day with them, as well as the vase on Talia’s nightstand.

            “You are working past your time, Francois,” Bane called. “You should be relaxing by now. The sun is about to set.”

            Francois straightened, a pair of shears in one hand and several cut roses in the other. “Madam instructed me to arrange a fresh bouquet to take to Miss Sanjana.”

            Of course, Bane thought, Maysam would think of such a gesture, whether it kept Francois past his time or not.

            “Very well, Francois. Do carry on.”

            The gardener gave a slight bow. “Thank you, monsieur.”

            Bane settled deeper into the chair and sighed. He looked to the west, admiring the sunset, which bronzed the landscape and held the night at bay a bit longer. A variety of birds still sang and called, but not with the stridency they displayed in the spring when every tree and vine hummed with their choruses. Swallows darted and wheeled, calling to one another in their acrobatic displays as they pursued insects in the golden twilight. Soon the bats would appear. Henri loved to watch them on those occasions when his parents allowed him to stay up past his bedtime. Like Bane, Henri had an unquenchable curiosity in all things. Bats, however, made Bane remember his old nemesis, Batman, supposedly dead after saving Gotham from the League’s occupation. The thought of that failure still left a bitter taste in Bane’s mouth all these years later.

            Now he forced those memories away by considering his son’s thirst for knowledge. How different Henri’s upbringing was from his, nearly the polar opposite. Bane had not only grown up in prison but had been born there and endured twenty-five years before rescue. He had never set foot in a formal school. His teachers had been his mother, the prison doctor, and a couple of inmates. He had read everything he could get his hands on, including all the books in the doctor’s possession, multiple times. Other inmates taught him their varied languages. After his rescue, the League of Shadows continued his education, and he had especially excelled in math and science. Now he had begun to share his knowledge with his son. Henri already spoke three languages fluently—English, French, and Arabic. Sanjana was teaching him Hindi.

            Hisham arrived almost silently, bearing a silver tray, which he set on a small table at Bane’s elbow. Distractedly, Bane thanked him.

            “Will Mr. Barsad and Sanjana be leaving us soon, sir?”

            “Barsad will let you know his decision before you retire tonight, Hisham.”

            The servant bowed. “Very well, sir.” He retreated.

            The tray bore a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses as well as a decanter of what appeared to be brandy and one tumbler, along with a silver, insulated ice bucket. There had been no need for Bane to specify refreshments—Hisham had known exactly what to bring, including the taboo liquor for Barsad. Bane’s lips twisted in a wry grin. Hisham had always had a soft spot for Barsad, dating back to the sniper’s early days in the employ of Maysam’s deceased husband, when Barsad’s American upbringing made him treat Hisham as more of a friend than a servant.

            Bane’s thoughts returned to his son’s education. Talia was averse to sending Henri away to school once he was older, but Bane wanted Henri to experience more of the outside world, to learn life lessons not found in books or the words of a tutor. Talia argued spiritedly whenever the subject came up, so Bane tried to avoid the topic as much as possible. After all, it was far too early to make an argument worthwhile.

            “Hisham comes through as always,” Barsad said as he crossed the patio, bare-footed still. “Is it safe to assume he brought this without your consent?”

            “He had my tacit consent, though you both know my views on strong drink, whether a League member or not. But I will look the other way, considering the situation you find yourself in.”

            “Thanks, Dad.” Barsad winked and sat across the table from Bane. He used tongs to plunk ice cubes into the tumbler. “I’d drink it neat, but I don’t want to press my luck with my boss. He’s a grumpy old bastard.”

            “I am glad you have maintained your good humor after hearing Sanjana’s tragic news. It is that news that brings us here, brother. Have you convinced Sanjana not to return to India?”

            “I’m afraid there’s no doing that.” Barsad sipped the drink and grunted with satisfaction. “She wants to leave early in the morning, so I’d better try to reach Nyssa.”

            “There’s no need for that.”

            “Are you serious?” Barsad barked a skeptical laugh. “We need permission slips for personal travel, remember.”

            “I’m well aware of Nyssa’s rules. But to seek her permission may cause a delay in your departure or perhaps result in an outright denial. You know that old saying, brother—better to ask forgiveness than permission; you have used it many times against me. You should take Sanjana to see her mother; it has been too long for the poor girl, thanks to her father. He should never have deprived those two of their relationship. For that, I am glad he is gone.”

            “What about Nyssa?”

            “I will handle her. As your immediate superior, I take full responsibility for your actions.”

            Barsad imbibed in an even larger swallow of the brandy, grimaced at its bite, or was the grimace about Nyssa? “I don’t wanna be responsible for you getting your ass chewed. I can handle Nyssa.”

            “Perhaps. But doing this my way will allow you to leave first thing in the morning. It’s important to Sanjana to be with her family as soon as possible. The girl asks for so little; let us give her this.”

            Barsad nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks, Bane. I appreciate you running interference. You know how I feel about Talia’s sister. I’d rather not be put in a bad mood by discussing this with her.”

            Bane smiled slightly. “I think she enjoys pushing your buttons. She always has.”

            Barsad scoffed and sipped the brandy, returned Francois’s, “Good evening,” as the gardener headed toward the house with his bouquet.

            “Those roses are for Sanjana,” Bane told Barsad. “Maysam’s thoughtful idea.”

            “No surprise.”

            “Talia wanted me to again reassure you not to worry about James while you are gone.”

            “Well, turns out Sanjana wants him to come with us since her mother has yet to meet her only grandchild.”

            “That is understandable, but it might not be prudent.”

            “Well, Sanjie isn’t exactly thinking prudently. She’s pretty messed up by all this. A part of her is relieved because her father’s death makes it possible for her to see her family again, but she feels guilt for that, of course, like she wished him dead. Of course I tell her that’s bullshit. She’s worried how her family will survive without his income.”

            “With the father out of the picture, we will be able to directly help them. They should have no worries there. He was a proud, foolish man to refuse Sanjana’s offer to help them financially.”

            “I’m glad the hairy bastard is gone,” Barsad grumbled. “I think Sanjie knows it, too.”

            “Surely you have not shared your view with her.”

            “’Course not.”

            “Are you certain you want to take James with you? Maysam will fret every minute he’s gone.”

            “Maysam was deprived of her grandchild for ten years; I’m sure she’ll understand Sanjie wanting to keep James with us.”

            “And how do you feel about it, brother?”

            “To be honest, I think it’ll be good that he’s with Sanjana; he’ll keep her distracted, and he’ll surely brighten things for her family.”

            “Yes, there is that aspect. But you will be exposed, brother, as you are when on a mission. I don’t need to remind you of the inherent risks of taking James with you.”

            “Well, I won’t be on a mission, so there’s nobody with a reason to shoot at me,” Barsad said, obviously trying to make light of Bane’s serious tone to mask his own concerns.

            “Nonetheless, Talia and I insist that you take two of our brothers with you for protection.”

            “There’s no need for that.”

            “Nonetheless, you will pick two from our detail to accompany you. I’m sure Sanjana will appreciate it, even if you do not. They will be discreet, of course, and will not be seen by Sanjana’s family. Also, you will make every effort to conceal your own identity.”

            “Yes, Mother. Relax. I’ll take ’em along…for Sanji’s peace of mind. She’s worried about me being in the open, like you.”

            “Indeed, our women do worry over us,” Bane said warmly.

            “Yes, we do,” Maysam’s throaty words surprised them both.

            They stood respectfully as she came up behind them. When she saw the brandy decanter, she raised one arched eyebrow in surprise.

            “This must be a serious discussion,” she said with a sly smile, “if Haris is allowing you to drink that, John. Maybe I should come back.”

            “No need,” Bane said, offering his chair.

            She waved away his polite gesture, and he noticed a small box in her other hand. “I won’t need your chair, Haris. I just came to give John something before he leaves for India. That is, if you are indeed going, as I suspect.”

            “Yeah,” Barsad said. “First thing in the morning.”

            Maysam hesitated. “I thought it best if I gave this to you instead of giving it directly to Sanjana.” She displayed the box. “I didn’t want to embarrass her or give her the opportunity to refuse it. I think she’ll more willingly accept it from you, John.”

            “What is it?” Barsad asked.

            Maysam opened the box then handed it to him. The sight of a beautiful diamond ring surprised Bane, and he instantly knew its origin, and judging by the shock on Barsad’s face, he knew as well. Barsad, unlike Bane, would have seen this ring before, many years ago when Siddig El Fadil had been his boss.

            Barsad tried to respond, stuttering and stammering as he looked at the wedding ring.

            Maysam chuckled. “John, I’m not suggesting marriage.”

            Barsad’s shoulders relaxed, and he grinned sheepishly. “Well, I…I didn’t figure you were, but…”

            “If you are going to meet Sanjana’s mother, I thought it best if the two of you could tell her you are married. Her mother will more readily accept you, even though you are not Indian, and Sanjana won’t be put in an indelicate position with her relatives, who would think your unwed state scandalous, especially with a child. The fact that you are not a Hindu will be challenge enough for the two of you in that environment.”

            “I don’t know what to say, Maysam,” Barsad managed, staring at her wedding ring.

            “It might not be a perfect fit,” Maysam continued, “but it should be close enough.”

            “Are you sure about this?”

            “Of course. It’s not as if I’ll miss it. Since Siddig died, I have only worn it when I was with his family. If Sanjana balks, you must convince her of the sensibility of wearing it.”

            “I’ll do my best.” Barsad closed the box and slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks.”

            “What time will you be leaving?”

            “As early as possible. I’ll let you know before bedtime.”

            “James will miss you, but there’s no need for you to worry about him.”

            Barsad cleared his throat and exchanged a glance with Bane. “Well…um…about that… Sanjana wants to take James with us.”

            “What?”

            “She wants him to meet his grandmother.”

            Maysam looked at Bane as if expecting him to speak, but he figured he would leave this to Barsad unless his friend solicited his help.

            “But,” Maysam stammered, “that’s such a long journey for a little one. And he would be safer here.”

            Barsad offered a soothing smile. “Maysam, you of all people should understand how much it’ll mean to Sanjana’s mother to meet her grandchild.”

            Maysam’s lips pursed. “I do understand, but—”

            “Remember how you felt when you first met Talia?”

            “Of course. But, John…” Her voice trailed off, and she frowned. “Maybe she could come here to meet him. Aren’t you afraid you’ll be recognized? You would be putting your son at risk.”

            “I know all that, so does Sanjana, but she wants him with us. You _can_ understand that, can’t you?”

            She wrung her hands. “Yes, I suppose.”

            “I’m going to meet Sanjana’s mother, but I’ll limit my time with others in her family. Plus, I’ll be clean-shaven, and Sanjana plans on making me a blond tonight.” He grinned.

            “Oh…” Maysam’s frown deepened.

            “Don’t worry.”

            “I will.”

            Barsad sighed in resignation. “Thanks for the loan of your ring.”

            “You should marry that girl properly, John. Marry her and leave the League so you can live a long life with your family. I wish I had been able to do that with my daughter.”

            Bane decided it was time to come to his friend’s aid. “Maysam,” he said gently. “Barsad must do what he feels is right, especially for Sanjana. She’s been dealt quite a blow. This is not the time for Barsad to be thinking of anything but her.”

            Maysam sighed. “Very well, Haris. I won’t say any more about it.” She paused, as if still hoping Barsad would change his mind. Finally she relented. “Let me know what time you plan to leave.”

            “I will.” Barsad kissed her cheek and smiled reassuringly.

            Maysam smiled back, though Bane knew it was simply because of the kiss and not because she felt better.

             The two men watched her return to the house.

            “She has always been a persuasive woman,” Bane said. “Like her granddaughter.” They returned to their seats. “You know, brother, I have no reservations if you want to marry Sanjana.”

            “And stay in the League? How—?”

            “No, we both know you would have to request your exclusion.”

            Barsad scoffed. “Like Nyssa would allow it short of death.”

            “If she would, would you indeed entertain the thought?”

            Barsad flashed a crooked grin. “You tryin’ to get rid of me, big guy?”

            “You know there is nothing farther from the truth.”

            “Why don’t you do the same? We could have a double ceremony.” The playful grin widened. Bane could not tell if his friend was joking.

            “Neither Talia nor I are concerned with marriage. The difference here is Sanjana. Because of her background and because she, for some foolish reason, is deeply in love with you. Now that her close-minded father can no longer dictate things, I suspect she will press her desires once again in order to legitimize your union.”

            Barsad sobered and finished his glass of bourbon. “What would I do if I wasn’t in the League, watching your back?”

            “There are ways the League could use you in an unofficial capacity. You would have more flexibility than now. Perhaps you could manage Chateau Blanc?”

            “Nah. Talia’s doing that job just fine. In fact, I think she prefers wine to knives these days.”

            “Don’t think she is any less devoted to the League, brother, but, yes, she has been doing an admirable job here, as she does with anything to which she applies her hand. You could always assist her.”

            “Not my thing, Bane.”

            “Then a contractor with the League it is.”

            “Maybe. Who knows? I’ll wait till Sanji brings up marriage again. Then maybe I’ll think about it.” He opened the ring box again and showed the contents to Bane. “Not sure how she’s going to react to Maysam offering this.”

            “Their relationship is indeed complicated. Hopefully she will appreciate the gesture. It is a beautiful ring.”

            Even in the fading light, the platinum band with its diamonds and sapphires glimmered as if new. The sapphires reminded Bane of Talia’s eyes. How fitting, and how ironic that such a piece had been purchased for Maysam long before Talia’s blue eyes ever saw the light of day. A prophesy, perhaps.

            “I hope it’ll fit her,” Barsad said. “I’ll look pretty silly to her mother if she thinks Sanjie’s husband would buy her something that didn’t fit.”

            Bane sipped his tea, the ice cubes tinkling against the glass, and gazed out over the perfect rows of vines stretching away. “It is a pleasant evening. We must take advantage of the peace and quiet while our children sleep.”

            Taking Bane’s cue, Barsad fell silent, poured another finger of bourbon. Together they listened to the world around them settling down for a night that would be all too short for Barsad. Bane felt a niggle of worry for his friend. It was rare for them to be separated. Having Barsad gone would leave behind a feeling of loss, he knew, as if his right arm had been severed. Henri, too, would be unsettled, for he had never been separated from James.

            “Who will Jin boss around with James gone?” Bane wondered aloud.

            Barsad chuckled. “The staff, no doubt.”

            Silence again, protracted and thoughtful.

            At last Bane said, “Don’t be gone too long, brother. But while you are gone, promise me that you will consider Sanjana’s desire for marriage.”

            Barsad tossed back the bourbon and swallowed hard. He sighed in satisfaction before setting the glass down. “You have my word.”


	4. Chapter 4

            Barsad found Sanjana in the nursery where she stood over James’s bed. The boy was still awake, but his eyelids were heavy as he listened to his mother singing softly to him, a lullaby in Hindi. Barsad remained by the door, which he had opened just enough to see inside, not wanting James to detect him lest his presence interfere with the boy falling asleep. Thankfully the child had always been a good sleeper. After listening to Sanjana’s melodious voice for moment, Barsad silently closed the door and retreated to the bedroom, Maysam’s ring feeling as heavy as a stone in his pocket.

            In the bedroom, their packed bags sat near the door. With a resigned sigh, he went to the locked gun cabinet near the walk-in closet, passing the dresser where Francois had placed the vase of roses. Punching in the combination on the keypad, he took stock of his arsenal, decided what he would take with him. Two favorites: a SIG P226 and a Beretta 92FS. From the wide array of rifles, he chose the multi-caliber Ballista. This he disassembled in no time and stored in its case. By then Sanjana entered, dressed in a coral-colored toga kurta, the matching ankle-length shrug fluttering open, reminding Barsad of a butterfly.

            “I’m glad you’re back,” she said, sounding weary.

            Barsad set the case near their bags then took her in his arms, kissed her lips.

            “Is he asleep?” Barsad asked.

            “Just now. He wondered where you had gone.”

            He forced a grin. “When Bane beckons, I have to obey, you know.”

            Remaining in his arms, she toyed with his collar. “Sometimes I think you won’t marry me because you are married to Bane.”

            He chuckled at her joke and kissed her forehead. “Nah. I would’ve divorced him long ago.” He drew her close again, smelled the scent of lilies mingling with the roses.

            She gave a small start then pulled away, looking down. “What’s that in your pocket? Not cigarettes, I hope.”

            “’Course not, darlin’. You know I’ve sworn off them long ago.”

            Sanjana sniffed. “I smell something else.”

            “Believe it or not, Bane let me have some bourbon just now while we talked.”

            “You told him we’re going?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Did he try to change your mind?”

            “No. He wants you to see your family. In fact, he’s going to run interference for me with Nyssa.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “We leave tomorrow without me wasting my time arguing with Nyssa for permission. When she gets here, if we’re still gone, he’ll tell her why I’m away.”

            “I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. You know how Nyssa already feels about me and James. What was it she called us—a dangerous encumbrance?”

            “To hell with Nyssa. I’m gonna do this for you. You should see your mother, and I should meet her.” When Sanjana started to protest further, Barsad put a shushing finger to her lips and drew the box from his pocket. “And speaking of that upcoming awkward moment, I have something that’ll make it a little less awkward.”

            Sanjana’s eyes widened and her breath caught at the sight of the box.

            “Now, Sanjie,” he hastened to say, “I’m sorry, but this isn’t what you think. Well, not quite.”

            She frowned. “Oh.”

            He guided her over to sit next to him on the bed. “Before I show you this, I want you to know this was Maysam’s idea, and a damn good one at that. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it myself.”

            Sanjana’s gaze drifted to the flowers. “Francois said she sent those roses.”

            “That’s right. And she would’ve given you this herself,” he lifted the box, “but she thought you might be more likely to accept it from me. She doesn’t wanna insult you. She knows you’re sensitive about the subject.”

            “It’s her wedding ring, isn’t it?” she asked without revealing her emotions.

            “Um, well…yes. Yes, it is.” He opened the box.

            Sanjana’s eyes widened. “Oh, my…it’s beautiful.”

            “Let’s see if it fits.”

            “But…why did she give this to us?”

            “It’s a loan, actually. With this, you can tell your family that we’re married. That way you don’t hafta be worried what someone might think or say.”

            Sanjana hesitated then held out her hand so Barsad could slip the ring on. He had to admit the gesture gave him a moment of unexpected excitement as well as nervousness. What would it be like to actually propose to her? Was he being a coward for not doing so? Was he hiding behind the League? That’s probably what Sanjana thought.

            The ring fit almost perfectly. Sanjana studied it, a melancholy smile vague on her lips.

            “So, what do you say?” Barsad asked. “Do you want to do it this way?”

            She frowned now at the ring. “I don’t like the thought of deceiving my mother, but the truth would shame her, and I can’t tell her the truth without endangering you. And to endanger you is to endanger myself and James.”

            “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’ve put you in an impossible place.”

            Sanjana raised her head. “Being with you is my _choice_ , not your _fault_. There’s no need to apologize. I appreciate you finding a way to at least appear to be married to me and for coming with me.”

            “It’s a shitty situation for you. Maybe I _should_ leave the League. Maysam and Bane think I should.”

            “They do?”

            “Yeah, so I can marry you.”

            Sanjana stared in surprise. “They said that? I’m stunned.”

            “Me, too. Well, at least about Bane.”

            “Maysam as well. After all, she thinks you deserve a better mate.”

            “That’s not true, and you know it. Sanjie, we’ve talked about this a million times.”

            “But she’s right. You deserve someone like Maysam or Talia; they don’t care if Bane and Abrams don’t marry them.”

            “Different situations, Sanjie. I knew when I was first interested in you that your family’s opinion would matter to you. It’s not like that for Talia or Maysam. I shouldn’t have started something I couldn’t follow through on.”

            “We fell in love, John. Neither one of us could stop that.”

            Barsad surrendered a small smile of agreement and kissed her. “I just wish things were simpler for you.”

            “Love is never simple.”

            “I guess.” He rubbed his thumb against the ring. “Well, then, what do you think about Maysam’s suggestion?”

            Sanjana admired the ring, hesitated, then looked at him with that familiar youthful exuberance that always made him feel old and young at the same time. “I think,” she smiled, “I will enjoy being Mrs. John Barsad, even if it’s only for a couple of days.”

#

            Talia had difficulty concentrating on the novel she was reading. The book belonged to her grandmother, a genre she normally avoided—romance. Years ago, when she had first discovered Maysam’s penchant for such novels, she had been surprised; her grandmother had never struck her as a romantic. After all, her husband had condemned their only child to life and death in the pit prison; how could any woman feel love for such a man? When Talia expressed her bemusement over her grandparent’s literary choices, Maysam admitted that she had read such books as a young girl, then stopped after her daughter had been banished. It was not until Maysam’s affair with Barsad that she began to read them again. In fact, Barsad had encouraged her to do so when he saw the books gathering dust on a shelf.

            “He told me,” Maysam had said, “that I could use reading as an escape and that I shouldn’t let Siddig turn me into a cynic. He said I deserved to have some enjoyment, an indulgence.” She smiled self-consciously. “Shortly after he said that, it was more than just romances he convinced me to indulge in.”

            Talia now smiled at the memory of their conversation. Barsad was not quite the idealist anymore, but he was more so than Aaron Abrams. But Abrams had many good qualities, including a deep love for Maysam. It pleased Talia to see her grandmother in love and still reading romance novels, which she claimed spiced up things in her bedroom, too.

            Talia stared out at the violet evening clouds that just showed themselves on the horizon, the color of some of her grapes, whose beloved, orderly rows she loved to wander down, often with her daughter in a sling across her front and Henri darting in and out of the rows, calling to her to chase him, James sometimes tottering after him. She loved this place, always had, even before living here. Chateau Blanc had been purchased while she had served as Demon Head of the League as yet another way to fund the organization. Indeed the League of Shadows had such companies all over the world. She smiled at the thought of Gotham’s elite citizens spending thousands of dollars on the League’s vintages before the siege, in essence funding their own demise.

            Again she tried to concentrate on the novel, but finally she gave up and closed the cover, sighing in irritation at her lack of focus as well as the reason behind it—her half-sister.

            She never liked Nyssa coming here. Talia viewed Chateau Blanc as her home and Nyssa’s visits as intrusions. But as long as Diya Panjabi lived here, Nyssa would come. Talia knew if it were not for Diya’s presence, Bane would meet with Nyssa elsewhere when necessary, to please his lover. Diya wished to live in her homeland of India, but for security reasons, Nyssa demanded that she stay here. After all, Yemi’s security detail was stationed here already for the others.

            Over a year ago, when Nyssa had unexpectedly inserted herself into their lives, Talia had not readily embraced her as her sister. After the League council had convened and voted to uphold Nyssa’s blood claim following a DNA test, Talia had not spoken privately to the older woman before Nyssa was transported to the League’s training facility, ’Eth Al’theban, in a remote region of Saudi Arabia. More than a year later, Talia had accompanied Bane to Nyssa’s initiation, not because she wanted to but because she and Bane felt her presence necessary to show that she accepted Nyssa’s ascendance. But Talia had not lingered after the ceremony. Since then, she had spoken to her sister only in an official capacity as a consultant during the transition of power. Little did Nyssa know that in fact Bane, not Talia, had been serving as Demon Head for some time, at Talia’s behest.

            Although Talia did not have a personal relationship with Nyssa, she kept an eye on her through the brotherhood. If Nyssa took a wrong step or proved that she was a double agent, Talia would be ready to pounce.

            Talia heard the distant sound of the suite’s main door opening and closing. She knew Bane would stop to peek inside both the nursery and Henri’s room before coming to her. Talia smiled wistfully. Bane was such a wonderful father, so different in his approach compared to her father. Perhaps her relationship with her half-sister would be very different today if their father had raised them together. Why hadn’t he tried? Had it merely been because he felt Nyssa was better off with her birth mother than with a man in his line of work?

            By the time Bane lumbered onto the balcony, the sun had disappeared entirely, leaving only a hint of golden pink on the horizon, her romance novel now concealed under the pillow at her elbow.

            “There you are, my love,” Bane quietly said, then bent to kiss her. “Just where I thought you would be. Not reading?”

            “Just enjoying the sunset.”

            Bane settled into a matching chair, the small, round wrought iron table between them holding a half-empty glass of red wine, the bottle, and a dish with little cubes of varied cheeses, almost gone.

            Taking the glass in hand, she asked, “Would you like a glass or perhaps a sip of mine?”

            He glanced at the baby monitor also on the table. “No, thank you, habibati.”

            “You checked on the children?” More of a statement than a question.

            “Indeed. Sleeping deeply.”

            “What has Barsad decided?”

            “They are leaving in the morning.”

            “Has he spoken to Nyssa?” She never referred to Nyssa as her sister.

            “No. I am sure you will excuse my impertinence when I tell you that I told him to leave without seeking her permission.”

            Talia grinned. “Did you?”

            “I told him that I will present his case to Nyssa myself when she arrives here. For Sanjana’s sake, I didn’t want them to delay their departure or perhaps not be allowed to go at all.”

            Talia reached to squeeze his hand where it rested on the arm of his chair. Her grin remained. “I admit I do love it when you challenge her.”

            Bane lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, stirring her as his touch always did. But his eyes revealed a shadow of rebuke. “I did it for Sanjana, not because I look for ways to defy your sister.”

            Talia’s mischievous expression died. She preferred Bane not refer to Nyssa as her sister, but he always persisted. “She _should_ be defied on this. Sanjana needs to be with her mother.”

            “You can understand why Nyssa might be against them going to India, especially Barsad.”

            “Of course, but I’m glad you have more sense on this than she might.”

            Bane grunted. “We shall see.”

            “You’re sending a detail with him, aren’t you?”

            “Yes, though Barsad insists it is unnecessary. He accepted, though, for Sanjana’s and James’s sake.”

            Talia stirred in surprise. “They’re taking James?”

            “Sanjana wants him to meet his grandmother.”

            “Hmm. Understandable. Jiddah won’t be happy about that, though.”

            “She isn’t. She’s already been informed. You must find a way to soothe her.”

            “I’ll try.”

            Bane popped a cube of cheese into his mouth. As she watched him chew, Talia thought back to the decades when Bane had worn his pain-relieving mask and how he would have to inject himself with morphine whenever he removed the mask to eat. Others had looked upon the mask’s tarantula-like presence with fear and revulsion, but Talia never had. She knew the true man beneath it, the beautiful man who had protected her, rescued her, and had nearly lost his life for her. The terrible injuries that the mask hid had been suffered because of her. Men who called Bane a masked monster never would have sacrificed and suffered for another the way Bane had for her. She had always felt guilty for it; that was one of the reasons why she had been so relieved when he finally agreed to have the reconstructive surgery.

            “Are you looking forward to your sister’s visit?”

            She drank more of the wine. “Don’t be coy, habibi. You know I’m not, especially because she wouldn’t tell you the reason behind. Vague and elusive.”

            “Traits of your father.”

            “I’d like to believe his reasons had more merit.”

            “To think that is unfair to your sister.”

            “You know I hate it when you defend her.”

            “I am trying to be objective, my dear. It is my duty.” He leaned toward her. “And you know it is my hope that one day you will allow yourself to accept Nyssa.”

            “She deposed you.”

            “She rightfully claimed what was hers. And remember, we both voted in her favor.”

            “Only because of the League’s rules of succession.”

            Bane gave her that age-old look he gave her when she had been a stubborn teenager—a wry, narrow-eyed stare of mild rebuke, chin slightly lowered.

            “Don’t look at me that way,” she scolded.

            “Sometimes, my dear, I think you simply enjoy being contrary. Why do you not give your sister a chance?”

            “Who says she’s interested in a relationship with me?”

            “You won’t know until you try to find out. She is intimidated by you.”

            Talia scoffed.

            “She sees all that you accomplished as the Demon’s Head, and she knows you had a close relationship with your father.”

            “A _brief_ close relationship, if you remember. I had next to no relationship with him after he excommunicated you so unfairly.”

            “And to this day I regret being the reason behind the fracture of your relationship with him. But that is neither here nor there in this discussion we are having now, is it? Do not try to redirect the conversation, my little minx. We are discussing you and your sister. I believe she is intimidated by your reputation, and she feels your animosity. That is what might be keeping her from attempting to form a familial bond with you. If she saw you make the first effort, perhaps she would reciprocate.”

            “What does it matter, Bane? My focus is on our children; hers needs to be on the League, not on forming a sisterly relationship. You’re encouraging her to be distracted.”

            “I am not. I’m not suggesting she spends weeks here, getting to know you. I am merely suggesting that when she comes here on business or to see her mother, you should be less aloof and make some time for her, just the two of you. Whenever she’s here, you always make sure you are never alone with her.”

            Talia knew she should not be surprised by Bane’s acute and accurate observations; he was a master at such things. She might fool Abrams or Barsad or occasionally her grandmother but never Bane. Sometimes, like now when it came to his sister, it frustrated her, and she had to struggle to hide it.

            She finished her wine and poured more into the glass, avoiding Bane’s gaze.

            “Habibati,” he persisted in that chiding tone she knew too well. “Please tell me that you will put forth an effort when she arrives.”

            Talia sipped the wine, then held the glass close to her with both hands in almost an embrace, gaze distant. Total night had fallen beyond the chateau’s outward glow of lamplight through its many windows.

            “Perhaps,” Bane continued, “if you made that effort, it will help smooth over any anger she may feel about Barsad leaving without permission. Call it a distraction for the sake of our dear brother and Sanjana.”

            Talia shifted her attention to study him, saw his small smirk over his new tactic. When he wore that expression, she found it hard to resist him. He looked young and alive. It had not always been that way. Before they had been in their current, committed relationship, he had often been worn down and aged by pain, not just physical pain but the emotional wounds he had suffered in his life—the loss of his mother, the murder of Talia’s mother, the death of Temujin, the excommunication from the League, the failure in Gotham. Though he could still summon his ruthlessness as second-in-command of the League, he was no longer one-dimensional, no longer a man with only duty to the organization. With Talia’s love and the growth of their family, as well as the banishment of the imprisoning mask, he had grown emotionally and had an astounding ability to be two completely different men.

            “So,” she said with a tiny smirk of her own, “you want me to do it for Barsad and Sanjana?”

            “If for nothing else, then yes.”

            She blew a soft snort before taking another drink. “Very well, habibi. I will do it for them, and for you because I love you. But I make no promises as to the outcome.”

            At this, Bane smiled more through his eyes than his lips, amused by her. He stood and reached to gently take the glass from her, setting it on the table.

            “Thank you, my love. Now,” he took her hand, “I find that your surrender has stirred my blood. Let us take advantage of our children’s slumber and permit me to secure your surrender elsewhere.”

            Talia returned his lustful grin and allowed him to lead her back inside to their bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Barsad had seen much of the world, from China to Honduras to Russia to South Africa to points in between, and the places that rankled him the most were places like the Jaipur slums. The stench of raw sewage, the overcrowded populace, the sickness and hopelessness all stirred him to anger at the world’s unfairness. The League fought for people such as Sanjana’s family, always working in the shadows to bring down the rich and powerful who clung to their obscene wealth and did nothing with it to help the marginalized. These wretched places also made him think of the West Virginia of his youth, where poverty was framed by the land’s natural beauty, a beauty that few who lived here in the slums could even imagine. He often described it to Sanjana and James and hoped to one day take his family there. Even the economic hardships of his home valley paled in comparison to this place.

He and his family made their way on foot for this last part of their long journey, Barsad carrying James, because the streets—a loose term here—were too narrow to accommodate a vehicle. Barsad felt vulnerable even though he had two handguns concealed on him and knew his brothers were somewhere nearby, blending with the natives. A shallow trench—more like a rut—ran the length of the street, choked with sewage and other refuse. James kept saying, “Pew!” no matter how often his parents tried to curb his outbursts. All around them, for as far as could be seen, hovel after hovel blocked the horizon, haphazard dwellings made out of all manner of things—cardboard, tin, sheet metal, mud bricks, blankets, and tarpaulins. Just as cramped and varied as the mosaic of dwellings were those who lived there. Young and old, men, women, and children. All under-nourished. The men stood idly by, some in groups, talking and smoking, while the women worked at various tasks—sewing, cooking, cleaning as best they could with time-worn brooms, occasionally calling to children who played in the streets with soccer balls or makeshift cricket bats, sending up a din with their shouts, bare feet kicking up dust. But when people spotted the strangers passing by, everything stopped for a moment, and all stared with suspicion and curiosity.

Barsad wore a battered baseball cap atop his now-blond hair, his face clean-shaven, eyes hidden by dark sunglasses. Concealed in one ear, his earpiece would receive any threat intel from his brothers. He wore drab, loose-fitting clothes. Sanjana had donned one of her simpler outfits that lacked any sign of Western influence.

If Sanjana recognized anyone, she gave no indication and never faltered as she led the way. Her expression grew graver as they continued on, a mixture of sorrow and something else, perhaps guilt over the contrast of how she once lived and how she currently lived. The way everyone stared at her male companion no doubt unsettled her, too. Did she regret coming here?

Quietly he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I just wish everyone wasn’t staring. Thank goodness, we’re almost there.”

After a few more minutes and a right-hand turn down a slightly wider avenue, Sanjana came to an abrupt halt.

Barsad touched her arm. “What is it, Sanjie?”

She swallowed hard, eyes fixed ahead. “My home.”

Her attention lay upon a shack slightly larger than those surrounding it, perhaps two tiny rooms instead of one, made of sheet metal and tin roof. A young teenaged girl sat on her haunches just outside, dressed in faded clothing, gaze in the dust, hands hanging limp over her knees.

“Kavitha,” Sanjana murmured, then louder, “Kavitha.”

The girl lifted her listless stare, attention slowly focusing on her older sister. For a moment she didn’t react, but when Sanjana started toward her, her expression opened in disbelief. She staggered to her feet as Sanjana reached her and threw her arms around her. Kavitha returned the embrace with the mechanical movement of someone in shock.

“You…you came,” she stammered. Then her attention went to Barsad as he drew near, and she moved back a step as if ashamed to have a stranger see her display of affection. Or was it fear?

Turning back to Barsad, Sanjana said, “This is my husband—John.”

Barsad smiled and spoke in flawless Hindi. “Hello, Kavitha. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Husband?” She looked at Sanjana as if Barsad had not addressed her.

“And this is our son James.”

Shy as usual in the company of strangers, James buried his face against his father’s shoulder.

Sanjana slipped her arm through her sister’s as if to keep her from running. “I will tell you about my family, but first I want to see Mamma.” Her focus went through the open door to the shadows of people crowded inside, their Hindi conversations blurred into a jumble.

“Ahil said you would not come,” Kavitha said, warily studying Barsad. “I told him you would.”

“Of course I would,” Sanjana said. “I came as soon as I got Mamma’s letter.”

“You missed the funeral, the cremation.”

“I wish I could have been there.”

“Come inside. Mamma will be so happy to see you.”

Kavitha tugged her sister through the door, Barsad drifting after them. Inside the hovel, a press of bodies made the small space even hotter and almost smellier than outside. A dozen men, women, and children stood or sat on threadbare rugs and cushions upon the dirt floor, all talking quietly. An older woman sat in one corner, dressed in dingy white, flanked by two women of similar age. Barsad guessed the woman to be Sanjana’s mother, Vita, and the other two Sanjana’s aunts. All were dry-eyed, as were the others in the dwelling. Sanjana had told Barsad how, unlike Westerners, Hindus avoided displays of sadness following a death, for they believed the deceased were conscious of their relatives’ emotions, and overt mourning could inhibit the deceased’s transition to their next life.

Near Sanjana’s mother, a filled water pot and a lit oil lamp stood near a photo of a man whom Barsad assumed was Sanjana’s father. The small lamp provided the room’s only illumination besides the natural light coming in through the door and the dwelling’s various gaps in the walls and ceiling. As eyes turned Barsad’s way, the conversations dropped away, and wariness shadowed all. James kept his face hidden, clinging even tighter.

Sanjana’s mother finally looked up as others started to murmur and whisper. Her mouth opened in shock, as if she thought her daughter to be a ghost.

“Maji,” Sanjana choked out, tears glazing her eyes.

“Sanjana?” her mother hoarsely uttered.

Sanjana nodded as the murmurs around them increased. Her mother grasped the arm of the woman on her right and started to struggle to her feet, aided by both aunts. Barsad remained near the door as Sanjana rushed to her mother and embraced her. Now the others in the room smiled as realization reached them over the prodigal daughter.

Standing in a corner on the other side of the room, a boy who looked to be around eighteen years old glowered at Barsad, arms crossed, the only one looking at him now instead of at the jubilant mother and daughter. Barsad guessed this to be Ahil, the second eldest son and probably by now the oldest one living at home; Sanjana had figured her eldest brother was married and on his own by now, leaving Ahil as the man of the family.

“Maji,” Sanjana said, reclaiming Barsad’s attention. She was holding out a hand toward him. “I have someone to introduce to you.”

As Barsad shuffled forward, others gave him as wide a berth as the room allowed. Barsad smiled at Vita, who wiped away tears of happiness from eyes even darker than Sanjana’s. Bemused, she looked between her daughter and Barsad. Smiling nervously, Sanjana took Barsad’s hand, still holding her mother’s hand as well.

“Maji, this is my husband, John.”

Ahil uncrossed his arms as gasps sounded throughout the gathering. The boy scowled.

“You are married?” her mother stammered.

“Yes. And,” she took James into her arms, “this is your grandson, James. James, say hello to your grandmother.”

James whimpered and pressed his hands over his eyes. The boy’s reluctance drew sympathetic sounds and words from the women in the room, who moved closer.

“He’s not used to meeting so many new people at once,” Sanjana explained.

Vita did her best to recover from her shock, focusing upon James and avoiding the blond Westerner. Barsad wasn’t perturbed; he had expected this. She spoke softly to James and gently rubbed his back, tears still trailing down her dark cheeks.

“I received your letter,” Sanjana said. “We came as quick as we could. I’m sorry I missed the funeral.”

“It does not matter,” Vita said. “What matters is that you came back to us.” She gestured to the rug where she had been sitting. “Come and sit. You must be tired from your journey.”

“I can stand,” Barsad said in Hindi, drawing a surprised glance from Vita and renewed murmurs from the others.

“You are my guest,” Vita insisted, gesturing again to the rug.

“Thank you, Maji.” Sanjana gave Barsad a look of insistence and obeyed her mother, whispering assurances in James’s ear.

As they settled on the rug, James peeked around him, then whimpered for his father. Sanjana surrendered him to Barsad before spending a moment in prayer before her father’s photo. Family and friends went back to their conversations, but always cool glances flicked Barsad’s way, especially from Ahil whose scrutiny included Sanjana. Barsad hoped Ahil wouldn’t treat Sanjana the way their father had. Barsad wouldn’t stand for that, but he also didn’t want to cause a scene.

Vita’s attention rested on James as Sanjana finished her prayer. There was immediate love in her expression and a longing to hold her grandson.

“James,” Barsad said. “Don’t you want to say hello to Naniji?” Then he smiled at Vita. “He’s been so excited to meet you.”

Again James chanced a glance around, then at his grandmother. He considered her for a long, wavering moment.

“Would you like to sit on her lap?”

James made a noncommittal noise, rubbed his eyes.

“You look tired, little one,” Vita crooned. “Would you like me to rock you to sleep?” She opened her arms and waited.

“He _is_ tired,” Sanjana said. “I’m sure after he gets a nap, he won’t be so shy.”

Her aunts agreed.

Barsad thought of Henri and knew that if Bane’s son were here, he would’ve already introduced himself to everyone and somehow procured food and a toy and a favored spot to sit. He hoped that one day his own son would display such self-confidence.

Though obviously disappointed James wouldn’t come to her, Vita said, “I’m sure you are right, daughter. Poor boy.” Then she took Sanjana’s hand between hers and kissed it. “I am so glad you have returned, even if it is for such a sad occasion. How I have worried about you and missed you. But, now…look at you. Married, and—oh, my—such a beautiful ring.”

Barsad had noted how others had already spotted the ring, no doubt calculating its value and what that value could do in their own lives, how their lost relative had obviously married far, far above her station, and what that might mean for them. No doubt it was that thin hope that tempered their suspicious looks or their judgment of Sanjana.

Sanjana blushed at her mother’s remarks. “I’m so glad you’ve finally met my family. I wanted this for so long.”

Vita’s happy expression faded. “Your father’s death has led to this, of course, but you must know that I never agreed with him on his judgment of you. What happened to you…” Her words trailed away, and her gaze flicked to Barsad.

“It’s all right, Maji. John knows what happened. We have no secrets from one another.”

“What happened to you was never your fault,” Vita continued. “The shame was _his_ , not yours. I will always be grateful to Hisham for finding you a place to go. But you must not be employed with Hisham any longer?” She glanced pointedly at the ring.

“I’m not. I’m happy to say that I spend my days with my son, being his mother and taking care of John’s household. I no longer have to work for someone else.”

“But, if you are no longer working with Hisham, how did you hear the news of your father’s passing?”

“My former employer saw to it that I received the contents of the letter.”

“Where do you live?”

“My husband’s work takes him all over the world,” Sanjana said, using the story they had fabricated on the journey to India. “Currently his work is in France. We are staying with friends at the moment.”

“France?” Vita echoed, leading to words of surprise from the aunts. “What an exciting life you must live, daughter. I can’t even imagine.”

“Oh, it’s not exciting,” Sanjana said, waving a dismissive hand. “But it’s a happy life. And now you are a part of my life again. John and I fully intend to help you, Maji, help the family, I mean. We always have wanted to help, but I knew Papa would never allow it.”

“You do not owe us anything, Sanjana.”

“But we want to help you. What would you do anyway, without Papa’s income?”

“I will provide for our family,” Ahil suddenly interjected, having edged close during the conversation. He stood above them, shoulders square, fists lightly clenched, his stare fixed upon Barsad with a challenge that amused Barsad, though he hid his reaction.

“Ahil,” Vita admonished. “Do not interrupt our guests.”

“She is my sister, Maji, not a guest, and I am her brother and the head of this household now. I will speak for this family.”

Barsad held up a placating hand. “We meant no disrespect with our offer to aid your family, Ahil. I don’t doubt you’ll be a good provider for your mother and sisters. We’re simply offering to help you provide for them.”

“We do not need your help,” Ahil insisted.

“Don’t be angry, Ahil,” Sanjana said with a meaningful glance at their father’s stoic photograph.

“This family,” Ahil continued, “has survived fine without your charity, sister. You and your…husband can keep your money. You shamed this family once, and now you come here with this rich white man to lord it over us.”

“Ahil!” Vita cried, eyes now blazing at her son. “You will not speak to our guests this way, especially at a time like this. Now, go outside until you have regained your senses.” When Ahil refused to obey, she barked, “Now!”

Ahil clenched his jaw, glanced over at a couple of intently watching men, then finally stomped out of the dwelling. The two men followed him.

“I am so sorry,” Vita said. “Your brother has taken all of this very hard. He acts brave and boastful, but he is merely young and afraid of what his father’s death truly means for him.”

“No need to apologize,” Barsad assured her. “I understand. I lost my father some years ago, too.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Will you let us help you?” Sanjana asked.

Vita hesitated, looking to the aunt who appeared older than she. The woman nodded hopefully. “Very well,” Vita said to Sanjana. “But we do not want to be a burden on your marriage. Your father and I often argued over money. I would not want to be responsible for being the cause of any trouble between you and your husband.”

“You won’t be, Maji, and you could never be a burden. We’re very happy to help.”

Vita, of course, had no way of knowing that Barsad and Sanjana had already helped provide for the family in anonymous ways. Quietly, as if to make sure no one else heard, she said, “Thank you.” She hurried to change the subject. “How did you meet…your husband?”

Barsad had advised Sanjana to avoid linking him to the El Fadil family, so she said, “I met him in the village near where I worked with Hisham. John was shopping in the bazaar one day when he was in the region on business. I was shopping that day, too. I bought too many things, and when he saw my predicament, he offered to help me carry my things. Then the next time I saw him, he came to my rescue again when a man tried to hurt me.”

Barsad knew this was Sanjana’s way of alluding to Amir El Fadil raping her while she was working in the palace. Though Barsad had not really rescued her that day—he didn’t know about it until afterward—he had exacted revenge with a bullet to Amir’s brain shortly after. Sanjana had guessed the assassin to be him, but Barsad had never admitted as much in order to keep her from ever being coerced by the El Fadil family to reveal his guilt. Every now and then she would bring up the subject, but he would laughingly deny his involvement.

“After that,” Barsad continued Sanjana’s story with a grin, “I made sure my work kept me there longer.”

He found James now brave enough to be studying his grandmother. Sanjana caressed his hair.

“And now we have this little one,” she said. “He is as sweet as can be. Maybe he will have a brother or sister in a while.”

At the mention of a brother, James implored, “’Enwe. Want ’Enwe.”

“Henri’s not here,” Barsad said. “You’ll see him in a couple of days.”

“Henri is his best friend,” Sanjana told her mother. “They are as close as brothers.”

“How old are you, James?” Vita asked.

The boy looked up at Barsad, who said, “Tell Naniji how old you are. You know. Show her how smart you are.”

Sheepish, James squirmed.

“Go on,” Barsad encouraged him.

“One,” James whispered to him.

“That’s right. Tell Naniji.”

Still fidgeting, James at last held up his index finger.

“Sixteen months,” Sanjana clarified.

“I can see you are very clever,” Vita said to James, drawing a shy smile from him.

Sanjana proceeded to tell her mother everything she could about her son. As she spoke, James began to relax and soon fussed to be held by his mother. Once in her arms and closer to Vita, he sucked on his thumb and studied his grandmother more openly. Now and then he smiled when Sanjana said something flattering about him. Barsad had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before he allowed Vita to hold him. As Barsad had hoped, the boy’s presence had eased some of the sorrow from Vita’s face.

“Where are you staying?” Vita asked.

“A hotel in town,” Sanjana lied as instructed. “I can’t remember the name.”

They were, in fact, staying at the League’s safe house in Jaipur.

“You must stay for supper,” Vita insisted, then to Barsad, “We honor our dead by eating a meal of their favorite foods. We will start preparing it soon.”

“You must let me help, Maji,” Sanjana said. Her gaze dropped to her father’s photo. “Your letter said he was killed by a car. Do you know what happened?”

Vita frowned. “He had been working a construction site on the other side of town. As he was leaving, a car came speeding down the street. One of his friends saw it happen. He said it was as if the car meant to hit him. Then, afterwards, the car just drove off, as if nothing had happened.”

“No one could identify the car after?” Barsad asked, concerned by what Vita had said. A purposeful act or just an accident? If purposeful, why? Had Sanjana’s father perhaps owed someone money, someone vengeful?

“No,” Vita replied. “But you know how busy the streets are, if you’re familiar with Jaipur at all.”

“And no one stepped forward afterwards?” he asked.

“No.” Vita fought back tears. One managed to escape, catching James’s eye.

“Nani cry,” James said to his mother.

“She’s a bit sad,” Sanjana said. “I bet she would feel better if you gave her a hug.”

James looked between the two women then at Barsad, who nodded.

“It’s all right, Sanjana,” Vita said. “I should be stronger than this, for your father’s sake.”

James wriggled around on his mother’s lap so he could fully face Vita. He hesitated a moment before saying, “I hug,” then stretched his arms toward his grandmother.

The aunts smiled in satisfaction, and Vita gave a small, grateful laugh as James reached for her.


	6. Chapter 6

Bane’s hands caressed Talia’s caramel-tanned thighs, her quadriceps toned by hours spent on the stationary bike. Those smooth thighs moved up and down as she rode him hard, pushing closer and closer to release. Eyes closed, lips parted, she gasped and moaned. His hands slid to her buttocks, kneading them, urging her onward. Talia’s hair flared about her in wild dishevelment from these past hours of lovemaking, a passionate and sometimes almost violent display. This was often the case right before her sister visited Chateau Blanc. Bane never mentioned his observation to her, though he wondered if she realized her extra ardor. He figured if he called it to her attention, she would scoff and dismiss the notion that her aggression had anything to do with renewing her sexual claim upon him. It flattered Bane to think that Talia feared another courting his attention. Surely she must know, after all this time, that his love was for her alone; it would always be that way. He also refrained from broaching the subject because he thoroughly enjoyed the prolonged and energetic sex that preceded Nyssa’s visits.

Talia’s unadorned fingernails scraped across his rock-like pectorals, then one hand drifted up his neck and chin. Her index finger slipped between his lips, and his tongue teased it, drawing further moans from her. He growled in return. Her pelvis crashed down harder against him, and he knew he could not restrain himself much longer. His right hand slipped between her legs, stroked her. She cried out, this last effort pushing her over the edge, and together they came.

Talia collapsed over top of him, her thighs embracing his hardness, her womanhood still pulsating, hot, as the last of his seed seeped from him. Gently he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her damp hair, breathed in the animal scent of her, closed his eyes, arms encircling her. They lay like that for a long time, early morning light creeping ever closer to their bed. How had they managed to steal this precious time? Usually Henri would be invading their room by now.

As if summoned by Bane’s thoughts, Henri’s faint voice called to them from beyond the closed door. “Papa Baba! Mama! Wake up!” The doorknob rattled.

Talia groaned. An instant later, the hungry cries of their daughter sounded across the baby monitor on their nightstand. Bane chuckled and opened his eyes. Talia buried her face in a pillow. He kissed her head.

“Rest, my dear,” he murmured. “I shall fetch Melisande and keep Henri at bay a moment longer.”

“Thank you, habibi. I love you.”

“May it always be so,” he said with a small smile as he extricated himself from her and the sheets.

His erection easing away, he slipped into a black silk robe and tied the belt securely. All the while his son continued his efforts to gain entry. When Bane opened the door, Henri spilled inward, but before he could charge the bed, Bane scooped him up.

“Put me down,” the boy giggled, squirming. “Mama!”

“Leave your mother be.” Bane carried him out. “Let us fetch your sister. Don’t you hear her crying?”

“Sissy always cries.”

“No more than you did at her age.”

“Nuh-ah.”

“Are you calling me a liar, boy?” Bane teased.

“No, Papa Baba.”

“Very well. You may ride on my shoulders, then.” In a seamless movement, he lifted the boy to his lofty perch where he ducked and giggled as they moved through the nursery doorway.

When Bane leaned over Melisande’s crib, the baby was momentarily distracted from her hungry protests.

“Be quiet, sissy,” Henri ordered.

“Hush, boy. Hold tight.” Bane leaned down to scoop up his daughter, Henri clinging to him.

“Phew! She peed.”

“So she did. And if you don’t behave, you shall change her.”

“Nuh-ah!”

“You heard me.”

Melisande’s cries fell to whimpers as Bane kissed her and carried her over to the changing table. By the time she wore a fresh diaper, though, Melisande resumed her clarion call for breakfast, much to Henri’s regret. Bane bounced her lightly in his arms as he returned to the master bedroom.

“Make her be quiet, Mama,” Henri pleaded.

As soon as Talia took the baby into her arms, Melisande settled. Bane stood there for a moment to enjoy the peaceful sight of his nursing daughter. Jealous as always, Henri demanded to be set down on the bed.

“No, my cub. You and I are going to take a shower. Your Aunt Nyssa should be arriving in a couple of hours, and we must be scrubbed and shining by then. If we hurry, we might have time for a walk after breakfast.”

Henri offered no reaction to the reminder of his aunt’s visit, especially in front of his mother. The boy had an uneasy relationship with Nyssa thus far, for he sensed his mother’s aloofness toward her. When he interacted with her without Talia present, however, Bane saw the boy relax his guard a bit. Nyssa seemed willing to forge a relationship with him, but because she had little experience with children, her efforts were often awkward, and if Talia was in the room, Nyssa usually kept her demeanor more formal. Bane had tried to ease her awkwardness by assuring her that Talia had once been as unaccustomed to motherhood and youngsters as she. Bane figured Nyssa had had few childhood friends, considering how the society she had grown up in frowned upon children born not only out of wedlock but sired by a foreigner, a foreigner who had abandoned her and her mother. And worse yet, he had secretly married another woman.

Nyssa was even less comfortable with her niece. Bane sometimes wondered if Talia had named their daughter after Melisande not only to honor her mother but to serve as a reminder to Nyssa that their father had chosen another woman over Diya Panjabi. Perhaps that was why Nyssa had little time for the baby and had never yet held Melisande.

Bane spent longer in the shower than he wanted to, indulging Henri’s enjoyment of the water. After breakfast in their suite with Talia, Bane took Henri for a brief walk in the manicured gardens, where he had to threaten his son with punishment multiple times when he tried to clamber into the various fountains.

By the time they were headed across a stretch of lawn for the rear doors of the chateau, Bane heard the distant, deep thrumming of helicopter blades. Henri followed his father’s gaze to the north, then pointed, hopping in excitement.

“Look, Papa Baba! A helicopper!”

“A heli _copter_ indeed.”

“Is it Aunt Nyssa?”

“It surely must be, my son. Now run and tell your mother, so she can meet us at the front door. Hurry along.”

“Yes, Papa Baba.” Away he ran in a blur of excitement, shouting for his mother.

With a smile, Bane watched him go, then moved at a more leisurely pace across the large patio, glancing now and then at the approaching Airbus H125, which flew low over the countryside, growing ever larger. It would land in front of the chateau where the circular drive provided ample room. The debris it would kick up would perturb Hisham and the other servants who would have to clean up afterwards.

Bane hurried through the house to reach the front portico just as the helicopter landed with the gentleness of an eagle upon a nest of eggs. He shaded his eyes from the flying dirt, all worldly sounds consumed by the turbines of the rotating blades. Bane glanced behind him to look for Talia, but of course she would make little effort to hurry. Only a servant stood just outside the door, ready to take charge of Nyssa’s belongings. Bane frowned over her stubbornness.

The helicopter remained only long enough for Nyssa and her two-man detail to disembark, their shoulders rounded, heads bent beneath the whirling blades. Then the dark green bird lifted up and started northward.

Nyssa marched toward Bane, the men flanking her, one step behind. Her dark brown eyes latched upon him, and she appeared oblivious to the dust swirled by her departed transport. The artificial wind tugged at her long French braid, pulling out black wisps to dance about the frame of her face and tickle her slightly squared, set jaw. She paid no heed to the servant who scurried out to take her small, dark bag from one of the men. Nyssa wore a red silk blouse that rippled in the breeze, unbuttoned low enough to show her modest cleavage. Bane considered her form-fitting black leather pants a poor choice for the height of summer, as were her ankle boots. Each time she came to Chateau Blanc, she was dressed to the nines, making Bane wonder if she were in some unspoken fashion competition with her stylish sister.

Nyssa’s physical similarities with Talia made it easy for anyone to assume their shared lineage. Both were beauties with dark hair and complexion, slim and lithe, nearly the same height. Their eyes, however, were much different, not just in color—Nyssa had Diya’s deep brown shade—but in intensity. While Talia’s indigo gaze could conceal her true emotions, Nyssa had yet to master that skill. Bane was unsure if Nyssa even cared to learn the art. She preferred to shoot from the hip, both figuratively and literally. A blessing and a curse to Bane thus far.

As she neared Bane, he raised his voice to be heard over the lingering helicopter noise. “Welcome, sister.”

“Let’s not linger outside,” Nyssa said unnecessarily as she broke stride only long enough for Bane to fall in step beside her.

Bane refrained from assuring her of their security here. By now she already knew this but remained cautious, nonetheless. Perhaps she meant her comment as an insult, a doubt about his safety measures. Yes, she was here for some sort of battle, he could easily tell. But who was her opponent—her sister or her second in command?

Her two hand-picked bodyguards were men who had only been with the League about a year, a telling detail to Bane. This reflection gave Bane an idea as to why Nyssa wanted to meet with him. Time would tell if his suspicion was correct, a suspicion he had shared with no one, not even Talia. Neither bodyguard acknowledged him beyond stoically meeting his gaze before he stepped next to their mistress.

“Where is Talia?” Nyssa demanded as they passed into the shade of the portico, insult in her tone over what she viewed as an affront. “And Barsad? Taking their leisure, I assume?”

“Barsad had pressing business elsewhere, which I will tell you about after you have had time to visit with your mother.” He gestured to Diya Panjabi, who was just then hurrying from the front door, no doubt drawn from her cottage by the helicopter’s appearance.

Nyssa’s scowl changed into a loving smile. She hurried to meet Diya, embraced and kissed her.

“You have lost weight, daughter,” the older woman lamented.

Bane could tell by Diya’s quick scrutiny of Nyssa’s attire that she did not approve of her choice. Diya herself always wore traditional Indian dress. It was bad enough that she had lost her only child to the League, but Nyssa’s complete dismissal of her humble roots in Rajasthan troubled Diya still. Bane wondered if she would ever accept Nyssa’s choices.

“I will make you supper tonight,” Diya said. “All your favorite dishes.”

“I look forward to it, Maji.”

“You will be staying with me, won’t you? Your room is all prepared.”

“Of course. But I’ll only be here for one night.”

Diya’s happy expression faded. “Surely you can stay for two? What’s one extra night when I see so little of you?”

“I’m sorry, Maji.” Nyssa turned her toward the front door and urged her forward. “I have too much to oversee. Perhaps next time.”

“You always say that, but it never happens.”

“Not ‘never,’ Maji,” Nyssa cajoled. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Maysam is so lucky to have Talia here all the time. Bane,” she said, surprising him, “couldn’t you relieve Nyssa for a day or two?”

Bane hid his mixture of amusement and sympathy for the lonely woman. “I serve at the pleasure of the Demon’s Head. If she were to request it, I would obey.”

“See, daughter, you have only to ask.”

They paused inside the doorway where Nyssa kissed her mother’s cheek again. “Not now, Maji. I must discuss some things with Bane, then I will be down to the cottage.”

Diya frowned but did not press the matter further. “Very well. I’ll have tea waiting for you.”

As she turned and trailed away through the house toward the back door, Henri’s voice echoed from the second floor, “Hurry, Mama!” accompanied by his rushing footsteps. He raced down the stairs. “Hello, Aunt Nyssa.” He halted next to Bane and hugged his leg, hid slightly behind it. “Mama is coming. I told her to hurry.”

Nyssa’s demeanor softened, and she smiled at the boy. “Thank you, Henri. How are you?”

“Good.” He absently put his thumb in his mouth, something he rarely did.

Talia descended the sweep of staircase, carrying Melisande in her arms. As she approached Nyssa, she offered no explanation for her tardiness, simply saying, “Hello, Nyssa.”

“Hello, sister. Hello, little one.” Nyssa rarely addressed or referred to Melisande by name, no doubt a lingering resentment over the child’s grandmother.

Melisande gurgled and stretched out one hand toward Nyssa before drawing it back so she could suck on her fist.

“How long will you be staying?” Talia asked.

“Just tonight.” Nyssa turned to Bane. “Shall we go to your office?”

“Of course. Will Talia be a part of our meeting?”

Talia quickly said, “There’s no need, I’m sure.”

“It appears my sister has her hands full,” Nyssa said with something bordering on condescension.

“Maysam can watch the children, if necessary,” Bane said.

“It’s not necessary,” Nyssa insisted. “You may discuss our meeting with her afterwards. I prefer to meet with you alone on this matter. It’s a delicate subject.”

Talia looked both relieved and insulted, gently bouncing her daughter. “Very well. Will you be having lunch here or at the cottage?”

Nyssa smiled slightly. “To appease my mother, I’ll be eating with her.”

Bane feared that Talia would say, “Good,” but fortunately she only said, “Very well. Henri, come with me.”

“I wanna stay with Papa Baba.”

“You heard your mother,” Bane growled, not wanting Talia defied by their son in front of Nyssa. He gave the boy a pointed stare and pulled him away from his hold on his legs.

Though Henri huffed and whined once, he begrudgingly obeyed, trailing Talia to the stairs. Once at the foot of the staircase, his energy returned and he said, “Race me, Mama,” before flying up the stairs far ahead of Talia.

Bane watched proudly, then said to Nyssa, “He would like to show you his katana skills while you are here.”

“Isn’t he a bit young to be wielding sharp weapons?” Nyssa asked with a wry smile.

“It is not that sharp.” Bane chuckled over his son’s budding skills and Maysam’s insistence that any blade Henri wielded be dull.

“Training him already to replace me?” A teasing light spark in her eyes, a moment when her humor reminded him of Talia.

“Training him because he asks to learn what he sees his father and our brothers here doing to maintain our skills. He is always game to try anything. He is curious and fearless.”

“I’d enjoy seeing his katana work, or anything he wants to show me.”

“Thank you. Shall will?” He made a sweeping motion with his arm toward the doorway to Nyssa’s left.

Bane led her through the gallery, a room of some thirty-five meters in length, adorned with paintings from several masters from around the world. An ornate skylight and eighteen windows filled the space with natural light. As they passed through this room, Bane asked how her journey from Croatia had gone. When they reached the doorway that led into the music room, Nyssa ordered one of her bodyguards to remain there while the other accompanied her inside. As the trio moved to the recessed office space at the near end of the room, Nyssa flicked her fingers, and the remaining bodyguard halted just this side of the alcove-like space.

Instead of sitting behind the desk, Bane gestured to the left, to a pair of chairs crafted from the same wood as the desk with richly upholstered padding. After turning on the desk lamp to offer muted light in the windowless recess, he sat, angling the chair slightly toward Nyssa. She sat somewhat stiffly, somewhere between the chair’s front edge and the backrest.

“So where is Barsad, Bane?” she cryptically asked.

Bane shifted deeper in the chair so his lower back was supported, for he had yet to don his support belt today. “We received word that Sanjana’s father died. As you can imagine, Sanjana wanted to return to India to spend some time with her family. You may recall her father had disowned her, so it has been quite some time since she has seen her mother and siblings. Barsad accompanied her. They should be back in two days.”

Nyssa bridled, shoulders pulled back, mouth tightening. “He didn’t request a leave.”

“There was little time for that. I told him I would take responsibility for his absence.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make, Bane. He is my third in command, not some lower level operative whose absence we can afford. He knows the chain of command, and he knows when it comes to either of you, only I can grant a leave of absence.”

“As I said, I take full responsibility for his actions.”

“Do you think me a fool? Of course you would say this with Barsad gone, so he can’t incriminate himself; no doubt he’s already in Jaipur. Maybe you gave him permission, though you knew better, or maybe Barsad left without even that. Either way, I will hold him accountable for his breech of protocol. In the meantime, you will contact him and order him to return immediately. If Sanjana chooses to stay, then she won’t be allowed back here at all.”

“His presence there has not compromised anything—he has an escort.”

“So you also allowed an allocation of our resources to waste time on Barsad’s personal issues?”

“Considering where he was traveling,” Bane said calmly, careful to keep his restless fingers still on the smooth wood of the chair’s arms, “I felt it a necessity. Barsad did not request it; it was my mandate.”

“Call him.”

“I will. As soon as we are done here.”

Nyssa wavered, anger building. He could tell she wanted to demand his immediate, witnessed obedience, yet she also knew to do so would reveal not only a mistrust of him but a weakness in her own belief that her orders would be carried out without her standing over her subordinates like a schoolteacher.

“In a way,” she began, settling back with obvious effort, “I’m glad this happened. It provides further proof for my suspicions.”

“Suspicions?”

“Yes—the reason why I came here to speak to you and Barsad in person.”

Bane waited, careful not to show any emotion. Hisham quietly appeared with a tray holding a pitcher of iced lemonade and another of iced tea, along with chilled glasses.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Hisham set the tray on the corner of the desk and bowed.

“Good morning, Hisham.”

“Do you prefer lemonade or tea?”

“Lemonade. Thank you.”

“And you, sir?”

“The same.”

After pouring and setting the glasses on coasters on the small round table between Bane and Nyssa, Hisham asked, “Will you be needing anything else?”

“No, Hisham,” Nyssa said. “Thank you.”

The servant left them, casting an almost suspicious glance at the nearby bodyguard.

“You were saying…?”

Nyssa cleared her throat. “Barsad’s wonton disrespect for my authority doesn’t surprise me; he’s never given me a chance to prove myself. I expected him to be here for this meeting so I could ask him face to face.”

“Ask him what?”

“If he’s the ringleader of the faction that wants to see me deposed and Talia or you as the League’s commander again.”

Bane showed no reaction to the confirmation of his suspicions as to why Nyssa had come here. He had sensed unrest among his brothers. Training Nyssa had not raised much concern among the rank and file, undoubtedly because most expected her to fail, but since her initiation and the council’s decision to uphold the rule of familial succession, he had heard that there were several senior members, as well as others influenced by them, who deeply disagreed with her ascendance. None were foolish enough to express their views to him, but a couple had made carefully worded remarks to Barsad. Barsad, of course, had told Bane, barely able to conceal his sympathy for the subversive cause. He wisely refrained from naming his source, claiming the information was merely passed through other operatives, not from the rebels themselves. Bane had not pressed him for details, instead telling Barsad to quash such talk, should he hear more of it. Bane had expected some dissension—he knew how deeply loyal the men were to him when he had been in command—and he had been prepared to let them vent for a time, but if they took it too far, he would have to act.

“When you first presented yourself to us at the palace,” Bane started deliberately, “you came at a delicate moment for Barsad.”

“Delicate?” Nyssa barked a cynical laugh. “There’s nothing delicate about John Barsad.”

“Hear me out,” Bane said as almost an order rather than a request, his eyebrows lowering. “The life of his first child hung in the balance. Of course your unexpected appearance and your claims concerned him. He had no idea your birthright claim had any validity. For all he knew, you were an assassin or double agent.”

“At first, sure. But even after my DNA test proved I was telling the truth, he was set against me.”

“Your DNA proved your heritage, yes, but to Barsad, it did not rule out that you were the undercover agent of some government, sent to destroy the League from within. Even now, he is not convinced. That is why he continues to be aloof around you. Perhaps if he did not have a family, he would be more willing to accept you for who you are.”

“You have a family and you seem to accept me, at least more than Barsad has. A soldier doesn’t have to love his commander, Bane, but encouraging dissension among the ranks is irresponsible and dangerous, as well as intolerable.”

Bane scowled. “Neither one of us has any proof that he is guilty of such behavior.”

“But we both agree he is personally against me.”

“Being cautious and being treasonous are very different things, and you are assuming the latter. You say Barsad isn’t giving you the benefit of a doubt, yet you are doing the same to him.”

“As the Demon’s Head, I can’t afford to do otherwise. If I let this fester, it could tear the League apart. We both know Barsad has a lot of influence with our brothers.”

“As you are aware, I have known Barsad for a long time. We are as close as two men can be, so close that one would be hard-pressed to conceal something from the other. I believe your suspicions have no merit. However,” he quickly added when she opened her mouth to disagree, “I will speak with him directly about this matter.”

“ _I_ will speak with him,” Nyssa insisted, matching Bane’s scowl.

“I think we can both agree that such a discussion will be best received coming from me. As I said, no one knows him better than I. He will not be elusive with me as he might with you.”

She considered this while sipping her lemonade. “I believe he would respect me more if I addressed the issue with him. I don’t want him thinking I’ll make others do my bidding in matters like this.”

“Then I suggest a compromise—we will speak with him together. A united front. However, I maintain you would be better served by allowing me to speak with him alone.”

Nyssa turned the glass around in her hand, stared at it. “We’ll do it together. We are, after all, both his superiors. You will call him immediately after this meeting and have him return right away. I can’t stay here long. As you know, we have many operations that I need to oversee. Tell him I expect him back here no later than tomorrow. If he refuses to come, he will suffer the consequences.”

“Meaning?”

“At the very least, he will lose his rank.”

Bane hid his displeasure. He knew Nyssa was not bluffing. It was obvious the hint of rebellion in the ranks had shaken her. Somehow he needed to convince his best friend to take Nyssa’s threats seriously. Making an example of Barsad would certainly grab the attention of the brethren and shake some of their resolve. Yet Bane could also imagine it fueling the fire of dissent. Either way, he needed to get Barsad back here as soon as possible.


	7. Chapter 7

The burner cellphone in Barsad’s pocket buzzed. He knew only one person would be calling him right now. So did Sanjana, who paused in her conversation with her mother to look at him with concern.

“Excuse me,” Barsad said to Vita. “I have to take this.”

He answered the call as he quickly stepped outside.

“I am sorry to interrupt your day, brother,” Bane said. “But, of course, this call is no surprise to you.”

“No. I’ve been waiting for it. I take it she arrived.”

“Yes, and we have spoken at length.”

“It’s safe to assume she’s pissed about me being here.”

“Indeed. She wants you back immediately.”

“’Course she does. Well, she’s just gonna have to wait until tomorrow. Sanjana’s family is having a special meal later to honor her father. No way I’m making her miss that.”

“I understand, brother, and though it is my duty to order your immediate return, as directed by our sister, your compliance is your own affair. Obviously I cannot physically compel you, nor do I want to, for Sanjana’s sake. I hope all is going well there.”

“Yeah, as well as can be expected. Her brother isn’t too keen on me, but Vita’s been great. Jimmy’s starting to warm to her, too.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“So what made our commander come all the way to talk to you?”

“As you know, I cannot speak candidly over this form of communication, but I will tell you that the matter she came to discuss has a direct impact on you, thus her displeasure at finding you gone.”

Barsad grinned. “Too bad. I hope you didn’t take the fall for me.”

“I was judicious in my choice of words.”

“Which means you took the fall. You should’ve just told her the truth—it was my idea.”

“She suspects the truth in the matter, of course. I will tell her you will leave there first thing in the morning. Will that suffice?”

“It’ll break Sanjie’s heart…and her mother’s.”

“There will be opportunity for another reunion in the future. That should help soothe them.”

“I hope so.”

“I must warn you that disobeying her and delaying until tomorrow may have unpleasant consequences.”

“Yeah, so be it. I’m doing this for Sanjana, not me. She should realize that.”

“She also wants you to know that Sanjana must return with you. She says if she does not, then she will forfeit her ties to you.”

“That bitch.”

“Caution, brother. You must understand the security reasons behind this.”

“Yeah, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Just make sure you can convince Sanjana to return now, not later after you.”

“She’ll understand. You know her.”

“Indeed. Very well, then, brother. I will take no more of your precious time there. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

#

Barsad sat cross-legged on the ground, a chipped plate in his lap, heaped with food. Around him, Sanjana’s family and friends also ate, some sitting, some standing, some inside the hovel, some outside in front, others in back with Barsad. The scent of cooking hung about all of them, trying to overpower the smell of cigarettes, which some of the men who were finished with their meal smoked. Barsad fought away the urge to light up, something he always used to do after a meal.

The food and its wide array of spices appealed to him, and he marveled at the quantity in such a poverty-stricken place. The women of the family and of the neighborhood had been slaving over the preparations since shortly after Barsad and Sanjana had arrived. Barsad had offered to purchase anything needed for the special meal, but Sanjana had discouraged him, afraid it might injure the women’s pride.

“Or Ahil’s,” Barsad had said with a wink.

“Yes, especially Ahil,” Sanjana replied.

Now, Sanjana came toward him from the hovel, James tottering in her wake. She had already fed the boy and now would enjoy her own meal. James fell slightly behind, distracted by the guests who spoke his name and tried to coax him near. When he realized his mother had slipped away, he hurried after her, stumbled and fell onto his hands and knees.

“Mommy,” he called, bottom lip trembling.

Sanjana settled next to Barsad. “Come on,” she encouraged their son.

He sat back in tired defeat.

“Come to Daddy,” Barsad said, holding out his hand. “You can do it.”

James seemed to consider crying, but when he noticed how everyone was looking at him, he struggled up and staggered toward his father. Barsad had to hold his plate high to keep the child from spilling it as he collapsed into his lap and rubbed his tiny fists against his eyes.

“I think someone is tired,” Barsad observed.

James situated himself so he could watch the strangers around him. The boy had relaxed a little around Sanjana’s people, mainly her mother, but still preferred to stay close to his parents, watching curiously. Thankfully he no longer said, “Phew!” to most everything. Everyone seemed to accept him; Barsad, however, was another matter. Few cared to interact with him except Kavitha and Vita. The former currently sat next to him, making funny faces at James to try to draw him out. Now and then she garnered a shy smile from James, who would then turn his face into his father’s shirt and squirm.

“He likes you, Kavitha,” Barsad said, finishing his kadhi with a lick of his lips.

“Surprising,” Sanjana teased her sister. “Kavitha used to say she would never have children. Looks like maybe she has changed her mind, yes, sister?”

Kavitha scoffed and nibbled at her serving of mohan thaal. She glanced at Barsad then away. Barsad had the distinct feeling that his foreign looks intrigued the young woman. She had been asking him some probing questions before Sanjana’s return, as if she knew he wasn’t exactly what he was leading them to believe. Barsad had been amused by her persistence and insight.

“A lot of good-looking men around here, from what I can tell,” Barsad said with a wry smile for Kavitha’s benefit. “No doubt you’ve caught the eye of many of ’em.”

Kavitha scoffed again. “I want to go away to school. If I marry someone here, I will have to stay here.”

“You don’t go to school now?” Barsad asked, not surprised by her revelation.

“No.” She stared hard at the rear doorway of their shack.

“Maybe I can help with that.”

Kavitha’s attention snapped back to him, showing a brief flare of hope, but then the gleam died just as quickly as it had come, and she looked away. “I cannot leave Maji. She needs my help, especially now that my father is gone.”

“We’re going to help your family,” Barsad said, keeping his voice low so no one else could hear. “You can go to school.”

“Ahil will not let you help us,” Kavitha grumbled. “He is a fool.”

“He’s just proud,” Barsad said. “And he’s hurting right now. He’ll come around.”

“I doubt it. He laughs at me whenever I talk about going to school. I want to become a doctor.”

Barsad had a brief image of Kavitha serving as one of the League’s physicians. He liked the girl; she was a rebel. Though respectful of her elders, she didn’t always strictly adhere to the restrictive dictates of her culture, sometimes voicing opinions that raised the eyebrows of relatives or grumbling words half under her breath that only Barsad seemed to hear. Perhaps if he had a daughter one day, she might be as strong-willed as Kavitha. Or, he cautioned himself, a girl with such qualities might remind him too much of Talia and Nyssa and make his duties as her father even more challenging than being James’s parent. He saw how Bane had his hands full with Talia, and who knows what type of girl Melisande would become with such a mother and aunt. Barsad chuckled to himself—thank God for Maysam; she was always the bridge over troubled waters when it came to the women in his and Bane’s lives.

“If you want to become a doctor,” Barsad said to Kavitha, loud enough for others to hear, “I’m sure you’ll be one. You’re a smart girl.”

An uncharacteristic blush flustered Kavitha. “Thank you,” she stammered. “It is nice to have _someone_ understand.”

“I understand as well, sister,” Sanjana said. “I have faith in you.”

“Thank you.” Kavitha’s eyes flashed at various guests, none offering any supportive words, a couple of the men shaking their heads and murmuring to each other.

James had been watching her closely during this exchange, chewing on one finger. Barsad could tell Kavitha intrigued his son. While he had shied away from the children closer to his age among the guests, he had studied Kavitha from the safety of his mother’s arms or from behind his father’s legs. He even tried to say her name once, but it came out as “’Vitha,” and he said it so quietly that no one but Barsad heard it. Barsad knew the two would become closer in time. But would they ever have that time? After all, it wasn’t as if Sanjana’s family could come to Chateau Blanc, and he figured Nyssa wouldn’t allow him back here, now that she had heard he was AWOL. Barsad frowned at the thought of telling Sanjana that they had to leave in the morning.

They spent nearly two more hours there, listening to family and friends regaling them with stories of Sanjana’s father. Barsad was glad few interacted with him—easier that way not to have to tell lie after lie about his life. When James grew fussy from fatigue, Barsad murmured to Sanjana that it was time to go.

“We can come back tomorrow, can’t we?” she asked, almost desperate.

“For a little while,” he said, unsure if this was a lie or not. “Time to go, sleepy head,” he called to James, who was now curled up in his grandmother’s lap, half asleep, on the other side of Sanjana.

Surprisingly, the boy showed no inkling of wanting to leave. Barsad’s cause wasn’t helped by Vita giving James a protective squeeze and making a reluctant sound.

“Stay here,” James mumbled.

“I’m afraid not,” Barsad said, helping Sanjana to her feet.

The nearby aunts saw this movement and hurried over to say good-bye to James.

“He could spend the night with us,” Vita said hopefully, one hand smoothing James’s hair. “You will be coming back in the morning, of course?”

“Yes,” Sanjana said, a touch of nervousness for her son in her voice now. “Thank you, Maji, but James isn’t old enough to understand if I left him here. You would be afraid, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

James looked between the two women then at the aunts, who all insisted he would be fine, speaking over one another in their efforts to assure Sanjana.

“Do you want to stay with your nani?” Vita asked hopefully, eyebrows raised. “I will tell you bedtime stories. You can sleep with me and Kavitha. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

James, seeing his mother on her feet now, squirmed and said, “Mommy stay?”

“I am afraid not, sweetie,” Sanjana said. “But we will come back tomorrow. I promise.”

James seemed to consider then said matter of factly, “Okay.”

Vita frowned sadly. “Will you at least give your nani a kiss good-bye?”

The child hesitated. Perhaps her disappointed expression won him over because he finally gave her a quick peck on the cheek then scrambled to his feet. He held his arms up toward Sanjana, but Barsad intervened.

“I’ll carry you. Your mother is tired.”

It happened the instant Barsad bent down. All in less than the time it took to blink. The sensation of something small and swift past his ear; the all to familiar sound of a fleshy target struck; the splatter thrown outward drawing gasps from those closest, including Vita. Instinct drove Barsad to the ground, covering James with his body. A flicker of confused silence as Barsad’s attention went to Sanjana’s prone form, then an eruption of screams from the women. Sanjana lay across her mother’s lap, the tangerine scarf about her head now stained crimson. Vita stared at her dead daughter, hands reaching for her.

“Get down!” Barsad shouted. “Everyone, get down, damn it!”

“Daddy,” James complained, struggling beneath him.

With one hand restraining James, Barsad reached for Sanjana with the other. Vita kept saying her daughter’s name.

“Get inside!” Barsad ordered everyone. “Vita…Vita! Take James; hurry. I’ll get Sanjana.”

The guests shoved their way inside any nearby shack or dove behind any flimsy nearby wall, fearful, confused, talking in a jumble. Barsad drew Sanjana’s limp form from Vita, who was now sobbing hysterically, her daughter’s blood staining her clothes.

“Take James,” Barsad ordered again. “Hurry! Stay low. Get inside.”

Barsad, however, didn’t expect another shot. Instinctively he knew he had been the target, and because the sniper had tried and failed to hit him, he would be on the move, figuring Barsad had backup. If he did not, then this wasn’t over. How had someone known his whereabouts?

Tapping his earpiece, Barsad spoke to his team. “Sniper fire. From the west. Not many elevated buildings to hide in. Find him. Find him, God damn it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vita had managed to regain enough of her wits to take hold of James’s hand. Her sobs and the pandemonium around him frightened him to tears.

“Mommy!”

“Go with Nani, son,” Barsad urged as he pulled Sanjana to him and crawled toward the back door of the hovel, Vita just ahead of him.

“Sanjana’s been shot,” voices inside repeated in disbelief.

“What?”

“How?”

“Who has a gun?”

“What are you saying? Shot?”

The questions blurred in Barsad’s mind as grief and rage overpowered the initial shock and trained defensive response. Now concealed inside, he pillowed Sanjana’s bloody head in his lap.

“Get a blanket,” someone said. Was it his own voice?

The family and friends inside had fallen back against the walls, crouching, staring, voices hushed and eyes wide, packed against one another, the women all crying, including Kavitha who had crept over, hands to her mouth. The small space suffocated Barsad as he found the horrid exit wound on the right side of Sanjana’s head. She had not suffered, of course; she never would have realized she was struck.

“Mommy!” James’s cries clawed through the humming in Barsad’s head. Through tears, Barsad saw him in Vita’s arms, the older woman seated in a nearby heap, rocking back and forth, wailing her daughter’s name. Barsad knew he should try to console his son, but he couldn’t let go of Sanjana as the warmth left her body.

Someone produced a threadbare blanket. Barsad spread it over her, bloody hands trembling. He kissed her lips before closing her eyes and veiling her face.

“What has happened?” Ahil demanded, shoving his way through the others, having come from somewhere outside. “They said someone’s been shot.” His words fell away when he saw the shrouded figure in Barsad’s lap. Quickly the boy looked around as if to see who was missing. He stared at Barsad, said, “Sanjana?” before his attention dropped again to the blanket. “This is your fault, isn’t it? This is about you. Who did this? Who killed my sister?”

“My men are trying to find the shooter,” Barsad said, quiet and measured. “For now, everyone stays inside.”

“Your men?” Ahil continued. “What do you mean?”

“My security detail.”

“Why do you need security? What kind of man needs security?” He looked at his mother, as if to tell her that his initial suspicion had been well-founded. Vita’s tear-filled eyes lifted almost fearfully to Barsad.

“Mommy!” James continued to cry and reach for Sanjana, but Vita held him tighter, as if to protect him from his father.

Barsad gently shifted Sanjana so he could allow James to come to him, ignoring Ahil’s continued harangue against him which silenced all other talk in the hovel. He held his arms toward James and gestured for Vita to release the boy. The women hesitated, but when James reached for his father and wriggled in her grasp, she finally surrendered him. She moved to her daughter as Barsad wrapped his arms around his sobbing son, kissed him, whispered soothingly into his ear.

“Get out of here!” Ahil shouted at Barsad, pointing toward the street. “Get out of here before someone else dies because of you.”

For a fleeting moment, as all eyes focused on him alone, Barsad thought they might attack him. Perhaps they would if not for James.

“Listen to me, Ahil,” he said calmly. “I’ll leave, but not until I can do so safely. I have to protect James. You may blame me and hate me, but James had nothing to do with this.”

“Leave him with us, then, and get out,” the young man snarled.

James turned to look down at his mother, whom Vita now held across her lap, rocking back and forth, sobbing, her sisters pressed against her in consolation, Kavitha sitting behind them in shock. The boy stretched one arm toward Sanjana.

“Mommy!”

Barsad softly breathed, “Shh… Mommy’s sleeping.”

“Wake up, Mommy!”

He hushed James again and rocked slightly side to side to try to distract him.

“I said get out,” Ahil repeated, standing almost on top on Barsad.

“I suggest you sit down,” Barsad said through gritted teeth. “That shooter might riddle this house with bullets in the hope that he might find his target unseen.” Barsad doubted the sniper would do this; it would be a waste of precious time to retreat or displace now that he had made himself known. With no visual of his target, he would have little chance of a lucky shot through the hovel’s walls and no way to confirm his success and report it to whomever had hired him.

One of the male relatives urged Ahil to listen to reason. Begrudgingly the young man crouched, a flash of fearful realization in his furtive gaze.

Barsad’s attention fell upon the lamp lit for Sanjana’s father, barely seen amidst the people smashed together in here, somehow undisturbed. The flame flickered weakly. Numb, he heard a ringing in his ears as he remembered the story of the man’s death. Seemingly random, freakish in its nature. Then he looked to his beloved Sanjana, to her blackening blood on the dirt floor, and with cold realization he knew he had been set up.


End file.
